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4
THE WESTERN SERIES OF ENGLISH AND
AMERICAN CLASSICS
S. R. Hadsell, Professor of English, University
of Oklahoma,
and
George C. Wells, High School Inspector, State of
Oklahoma
General Editors
Carlyle. Essay\ on Burns. Edited by Irene P. McKeehan,
Professor of English Language, University of Colorado.
Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities. Edited by George C.
Wells.
Eliot. Silas Marner. Edited by S. R. Hadsell and George
C. Wells.
Garrard. Wah-to-yah and the Taos Trail. Edited by
Walter S. Campbell, Assistant Professor of English.
University of Oklahoma.
Goldsmith. She Stoops to Conquer. Edited by J. L.
Rader, Librarian, University of Oklahoma.
Irving. A Tour on the Prairies. Edited by Joseph B.
Thoburn, Secretary of the Oklahoma Historical Society
and George C. Wells, State High School Inspector of
Oklahoma.
Milton. Shorter Poems. Edited by L. J. Rarton, Professor
of Modern Languages, East Central Teachers' College.
Parkman. The Oregon Trail. Edited by Walter S. Camp¬
bell, Assistant Professor of Epglish, University of Ok¬
lahoma.
Scott. The Lady of the Lake. Edited by Grace E. Jencke,
Professor of English, Southwestern Teachers’ College.
Scott. Ivanhoe. Edited by Bessie M. Huff. Head of the
Department of English, Central High School, Musko¬
gee, Oklahoma.
Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night's Dream. Edited by
S. R. Hadsell. Professor of English, University of Ok¬
lahoma.
Sheridan. The Rivals. Edited by J. L. Rader, Librarian,
University of Oklahoma.
Stevenson. Treasure Island. Edited by George C. Wells
and S. R. Hadsell.
Tennyson. Idylls of the King. Edited by S. R. Hadsell
and George C. Wells.
Others in Preparation
SIR WALTER SCOTT
The Western Series of English and
American Classics
Ivanhoe
A ROMANCE
By
SIR WALTER SCOTT
1 1
Edited for School Use
by
Bessie M. Huff
Head, of Department of English,
Central High School, Muskogee, Oklahoma
HARLOW PUBLISHING COMPANY
Oklahoma City
1927
Copyright, 1927
By
Harlow Publishing Co.
©C1A1013168
NOW 1977
FOREWORD
In preparing this edition of Ivanhoe for use in
> chools, the editor has sought to make it possible for
junior or senior high-school pupils to enjoy the story.
Many years of experience have convinced her that too
frequently the methods used have driven children from
reading, thus defeating the purpose of literature
\ caching in the public schools.
| Since children cannot be selected, a teacher must
cake all those who come and serve them. Immediate¬
ly she faces the problem of individual differences.
The contracts suggested for teachers are presented to
help her meet this situation. The solution to the prob¬
lem is individual effort, permitting each pupil to work
at the rate he is able.
Even if some are ready for the last contract, dram¬
atization of the book, later than others, they will en¬
joy presenting their own dramatization when they
get the proper understanding, no matter how late the
knowledge comes. Some people naturally work faster
than others. After all, the purpose of all literature
teaching is not the completion of a certain amount of
prescribed work ; it is the stimulation of human minds
to action, the stimulation that causes something to
happen in the mind of each and every child.
The foot-notes can well be regarded as markers
along a highway. Because they are there to guide
those who need them, no one is ever asked to pass an
examination on the situation of the markers. Indeed,
they serve their purpose when they carry the traveller
to his destination, which in Ivarihoe' is an enjoyable
understanding of a good story, after a pleasant ex¬
perience in a journey of the mind.
— BESSIE M. HUFF.
<*
\
CONTENTS
Preface to Students— - i
Life of Scott _ — - - vii
Chronological List of Scott’s Publications— xviii
List of Characters _ _ xxi
IVANHOE _ _ 1
Appendix _ _ 643
Glossary - 653
Suggestions to Teachers and Students - 667
■
PREFACE FOR STUDENTS
l ^ V • ,
/ou will read Ivanhoe to-day even a hundred years
turjer it appeared first, because you will enjoy it. It
is a story of action. Something happens every minute.
Even in the mad rush of the present day when
many travel in automobiles and airplanes, perhaps
there never was a time when people prepared them¬
selves as thoroughly to have a good time as they do
to-day. While the trip is the paramount pleasure,
great care is taken in finding the proper equipment,
in understanding the roads, and in learning something
of the people and the country in which the journey
is taken.
Now, to apply the same principle to your trip
through this magnificent story, what are the points
of interest that you are going to learn in Ivanhoe
which will add to your pleasure and understanding?
In the first place, since you have not had English
history, you are wondering what is behind the resent¬
ment that is shown between Norman and Saxon from
the beginning. In 1066 the Normans came across
from the northern part of France and conquered Eng¬
land. Of course they,, who spoke French and had
French customs, brought with them their language
and habits. Since they became the ruling class, they
dominated all court life and higher classed of people.
The lower classes, old Saxon land owners and people
not dependent upon political aid from the government,
tried in vain to keep alive the old Saxon life, language,
and customs. There was a strong feeling of antagon¬
ism between these two peoples. Before the time of
Ivanhoe, however, much of this feeling had been eradi¬
cated by intermarriage and by common interests.
Scott reveals the spirit of the earlier times so W£ll
that the inaccuracy in dates is pardoned.
11
IVANHOE
The spirit of this struggle between these
peoples permeates the entire book and enters int'
three plots that form the story. This is pro |
the second point that you want to know. Whert^ .
you going in your story? The first plot, or stc aj
was woven around Ivanhoe and Rowena. The ne>
was the conspiracy of John and the affairs of Rird|
ard. The last involved the attempts of the Temp qjjj
to secure Rebecca. While each thread is closely km
to the other, perhaps the linking comes through tl *
spirit of the Normans and the Saxons. In the firs
Cedric, a Saxon of the old order, that was rapidi.»
dying out, tried to prevent the marriage of Rowen
a noble Saxon girl, and Ivanhoe, who was the loya;
knight, a symbol of the new order that was destined
to succeed with the ruling Normans. In the seeon,
plot there was the struggle between the forces tha
gathered themselves in sympathy around each group.
While they resented having any Norman, the Saxons
preferred Richard, the Crusading prince, who had
long been away from the land. The Norman noble¬
men showed allegiance to Prince John, who had the
throne in Richard’s absence and who feared Rich¬
ard’s return. Here again the spirit of the times is
more true than the actual presentation of facts. In
the third plot, the spirit of the old Norman-Saxon
struggle is less prominent, except from the sentiment
standpoint. The Templar, a representative of one of
the most picturesque of old institutions, a degenerate
knight, and an evil character, was friendly to the
Normans. Rebecca, who belonged to the race that
aided the Normans but was despised by them, was a
bit like Ivanhoe; she represented a new order. She
drew her aid from a person free from prejudice.
Robin Hood, De Bracy, Wamba, Gurth, and the Friar,
*
Preface to Students
iii
took his place in belonging to one side or the
0as you can plainly see as you read the story.
comes the third question. What kind of people
pere in the book, or, in other words, how are the
f peters portrayed?
^ruly you cannot get very well acquainted with the
! fracters; at least they make no change before you.
r y grow neither worse nor better. Rebecca is,
, ‘ . naps, an exception. You can see the growth of
love for Ivanhoe and her struggle to remain true
‘?her race. Ivanhoe is essentially a book of action
jd not of character delineation,
yrhe places around which the action is centered
jpre connected in a very interesting manner, by in¬
cidents that involve the various characters that move
cickly before your eyes. The first part of the book
is centered around the tournament. Here entered
Wamba, Gurth the Prior, the Templar, Cedric, Isaac,
Rowena, Athelstane, Prince John, Locksley, and Ivan¬
hoe. The storming of the castle, the second place,
involved most of these along with Richard, the Friar,
Front-de-Bceuf, and De Bracy. The third was the
judicial combat in which the Templar and Rebecca
were the most concerned. Of course Ivanhoe came
into the story prominently here. In each part of the
story there is a point of highest interest. See if you
can pick a climax for each of these three plots and
situations.
No doubt you are wondering about the name.
Scott took it from an old rhyme concerning three
manors forfeited by the ancestor of John Hampden
to the Black Prince for striking him a blow with a
racket when they quarreled at a game of tennis:
“Twing, Wing, and Ivanhoe,
For striking of a blow,
Hampden did forgo,
And glad he could escape so.”
iv
IVANHOE
Scott chose the name because it had an ancient*
English sound and because it gave no hint as to the!
ending of the story.
Ivanhoe, the first historical novel written, was well
received. It marks the height of Scott’s popularity.
“As a work of art,” Lockhart says,1 “ Ivanhoe is per¬
haps the first of all Scott’s efforts, whether in prose
or in verse ; nor have the strength and splendor of
his imagination been displayed to a higher advantage
than in some of the scenes of this romance.” As h
was suffering from an illness at the time Ivanlit
was written, much of it was dictated. The parts
that were in Scott’s handwriting were very neat. He
never rewrote any of his prose before sending it to
the publisher.
Many object to the ending of the story,1 but surely
you cannot spend long in regret concerning the end
of a story when there are such thrilling events as
tournaments, encounters with outlaws, and castle bom¬
bardments to remember. Ivanhoe, the Black Knight
Lockhart’s life of Scott, Page 421, Vol. III.
During the Sesqui-Centennial in 1926, one of the new
papers of Philadelphia carried an extensive story of E
becca Gratz, prototype of Rebecca, who was an eav
resident of Philadelphia and whose grave is on the no
side of Spruce Street above Eighth Street, opposite
Pennsylvania Hospital. Mass Gratz became a friei
Washington Irving because she was a true friend of
Matilda Hoffman to whom Irving was engaged and I
whom he was faithful even after her early death befoi,
their marriage. When Mr. Irving visited Scott at Abbots j
ford, he told the Scotch writer about the character of Re¬
becca and expressed a desire that Scott could put her into !
one of his stories.
In her life-time, the Rebecca of Philadelphia did not
marry, but spent a long life of over eighty years in de¬
voted service to the community and her loved ones. The
following is the leading paragraph of her will: “I, Re-
Preface to Students
v
Cedric, and the Templar certainly claim anyone’s at¬
tention until he can almost imagine he is among them.
Can you not almost actually see Ivanhoe in the first
|| tournament? His skill, ease, and good sportsmanship
i made his victory certain. Gurth and Wamba were not
I bad servants, after all Cedric said about them, were
they? They went further than any freeman might do
in carrying out his duties. Wamba certainly “gave
service with a smile.” You cannot help being glad
♦that Rowena did not marry Athelstane, now can you?
>It was not all because he thought of nothing but
something to eat, either. If you object to the ending
of the story, what would you do with Rowena? You
cannot let your mind dwell on any one character,
because just when that one gets quiet enough for you
to study him, along comes another one to take first
place in your attention. Ivanhoe is a book of action,
one in which people do things.
Frequently attention is directed to the historical
inaccuracies in Ivanhoe. Why notice the thorns when
the rose is there to see? Great musicians can make
harmonious discords that no amateur dare play. A
kittle boy once objected that grandfather could nod
r^pd sleep in his chimney corner as much as he
-leased, when he said:
“Put if I close my eyes and nod my head
hil am sure to be marched right off to bed.”
ou and I cannot confuse our facts, because we
ave not stood the test of ages to prove our worth
fbecca Gratz, < f Philadelphia, being in sound health of body
and mind, advanced in the vale of years, declare this to
be my last will and testament. I commit my spirit to the
God Who gave it, relying on His mercy and redeeming love,
and believing with a firm -and perfect faith in the religion
of my fathers — ‘Hear O, Israel, the Lord God is one Lord’.”
She in practice carried out what the Rebecca of Ivanhoe
declared she was going to do with her life.
VI
Preface to Students
in any special field ; but certainly Sir Walter Scott,
who was the master of the art of story-telling,,, is be¬
yond our criticism in respect to historical errors,
however just it may be to recognize that he was his¬
torically inaccurate. All we need to do is to read
and to enjoy the lively and fascinating tale told in
Ivanhoe. Let us permit Scott to lead our imagina¬
tion, as he did those of his classmates of the past,
through a romance of early days.
LIFE OF SCOTT
Why study Sir Walter Scott? No doubt when you
are grown, the children in the schools will be say¬
ing, “Why talk about Lindbergh?”
Up to the time of Scott, people were not accus¬
tomed to stories that gave them pictures of human
life in interesting, outdoor situations. In fact so
well did- Scott succeed that he took the people of his
day by storm, just as the young “Ace of the Air” took
the world of 1927. His books were read by young
and old. Writers of England imitated him. Foreign¬
ers translated his works into other tongues. Nor
has the popularity of Scott’s hovels decreased as time
has passed. Such word pictures of early English life,
knights, and tournaments, as well as of Scottish
Highlanders and of Scottish life did he paint that
people to-day read and study Scott’s works. They
consider it a privilege to view the past through a
lens polished by a master hand, through a powerful
story told by Scott.
Do you suppose that the children will some day
have difficulty in imagining Lindbergh as a boy?
Sometimes the youth of great men fade before their
prominence. To get a true picture of Scott, you must
imagine a lame boy who consciously and resolutely
gained health until he could walk from twenty-five
to thirty miles in a day’s hike. He loved the open.
When he was not walking, he rode horseback over the
highlands and lowlands of Scotland, until he knp , it
as you know the favorite country through which you
drive. He liked to hunt. He even ^ed to fight in
the school yard. No doubt L's ability to mimic
people, while it led him into difficulties in the school
room, helped him to see interesting traits in others.
Above all he enjoyed making up and telling a tale to
Vlll
IVANHOE
see his friends grow excited in anticipation of how
the story was going to end. Scott was just a live,
wide-awake boy, even if he was born in 1771. You
would have liked him if you had known him, and
there is no reason why you cannot become ac¬
quainted with him.
If he had not later in life overcome his ill health,
the affliction that came on him when he was eigh¬
teen months old would be very sad. As the result of
teething fever, he was left powerless to use his right
leg. The little fellow was sent to the country to the
farm house known as Sandy-Knowe. Every possible
remedy was tried. In a peculiar one he was wrapped
in the warm hide of a sheep which had just been
killed. He was frequently carried out to the old
shepherd who let him lie in the sun on the ground
among the sheep. One day he was forgotten when a
thunder storm came up unexpectedly. His aunt
rushed out to find him lying on his back and exclaim¬
ing delightedly at each flash of lightning, “Bonny,
bonny.” This contact with nature, the fresh air,
special baths, and natural exercise, brought on by
a desire to do as others did, gave the boy the neces¬
sary strength to begin to walk.
An uncle gave Walter a small Shetland pony not
so large as a big Newfoundland dog. The boy was
permitted to bring his pet into the house and to feed
it himself. He learned to ride well. So much did
he think of the pony that he bought one for a grand¬
child in his later life and gave the new pony the
name, Marion, the same his childhood playmate had
borne.
Because he had been ill and because he had been
cared for by an aunt and a grandfather who granted
all his wishes, he was wilful, wanting his own way
when he returned for a time to his father’s house.
Life of Scott
IX
The author’s mother was a great inspiration to him
in her sympathy for his delight in imaginative read¬
ing. He had a passion for reading, but he wanted
to read just what he pleased. The private teachers
and the masters in the schools Scott attended in
Edinburgh found that it was a task to get him to
learn his Latin and Greek. He was not, however,
void of ambition. He aspired to be at the head of
his class, but he did not always want to work to get
there. There was one time that he played a decidedly
boyish prank in order to attain his desire. He no¬
ticed that the boy at the top of the class always
played with a certain button on his coat while he was
reciting. Walter cut the button from the boy’s coat
and the boy failed to recite. As a result of his
trick, Walter went to the head of the class.
It was in the “yards”, the play-ground, that he
was “more distinguished” than in the class room.
Mentally, he could easily have led, but he no doubt
felt that he was not a boy among boys unless he
showed his physical strength. On the first day he
entered one school, he received a bloody nose because
he insisted upon not being favored because he was
a cripple. But he had exceptional strength in the
arms and chest so that he soon maintained a place of
respect among his friends.
After he had won them on their own ground, the
boys soon came to appreciate his special talent. They
took delight in gathering about him to have him tell
them tales that he pictured in his mind. No doubt
his powers of mimicking added to the vivacity of his
speech and manner until the boys who could not
create tales themselves could at least live in their
imaginations the tales he told. James Ballantyne,
with whom he attended Grammar School* for a few
weeks, and he would spend hours in school and out
X
IVANHOE
of school together. Always Walter related to his
interesting companion some fascinating adventure.
Scott’s mother wanted his education to be well
rounded. She even attempted to give him music les¬
sons along with his brothers, but she gave up her
ambition when a neighbor protested over all the
children being flogged at once because they could not
learn to play. Scott could not draw either, a failure
he regretted immensely, later in his life because
there were times when he would like to draw.piceures
of things that he saw in his travels. He contented
himself with cutting pieces of tre§s of various places
to put in what he called his “log-book.” How inter¬
esting a collection of out-door historical places he
must have had! Evidently Stamp collections and
memory books are not new ideas after all.
The boy’s excursions became such a passion with
him that he often went distances which kept him
away from home long enough to make his parents
alarmed. Had he not been an out-door creature, no
doubt he would not have recovered from a severe
illness in his youth when a blood vessel in his ab¬
domen burst. By dogged determination, out-door
living, and careful diet, he lived to be strong. He
says, “My frame gradually became hardened with
my constitution, and being both tall and muscular,
I was rather disfigured than disabled by my lame¬
ness. This personal disadvantage did not prevent
me from taking much exercise on horseback, and
making long journeys on foot, in the course of which
I often walked from twenty to thirty miles a day.”1
Rollicking, lively boys must settle into staid busi¬
ness men sooner or later. Walter Scott’s father de¬
cided that he should be a lawyer. Since Walter, who
knew much about literature, folk lore, and nature,
'Lockhart’s Life of Scott , page 49 : Vol. I.
Life of Scott
XI
did not especially want to be a lawyer, he admits that
he was forced to study when he read law to learn all
the facts he needed. He studied Roman and Civil
law during the years 1789, 1790, 1791, 1792, when he
was admitted to the bar. He devoted himself to the
task in a whole-souled manner, even though in the be¬
ginning of his professional career, he had to copy
long documents in long hand for hours at a time.
Scott loved and married Miss Carlotte Margaret
Carpenter in 1797. His meeting is somewhat mod¬
ern and very romantic. He and a friend who hap¬
pened to be at a house party were riding out to amuse
themselves one morning. They saw a young woman,
also out for a ride, who attracted them, and they
followed her until they assured themselves that she
was a member of the same house party. Scott’s
brother and the friend dressed in their army uni¬
forms for the ball in the evening. There was no
little rivalry as to who should be the first to meet
the young woman of the morning. Highly amusing,
however, was the fact that when they were intro¬
duced Walter Scott succeeded in escorting the young
woman to supper even though his brother and his
friend had made many preparations for a conquest.
Scott, upon his marriage to Miss Carpenter, did not
take her at once to the noted Castle of Abbotsford
which many tourists visit to-day. They lived in
Scott’s North Castle Street house in Edinburgh; later
they were at a hired cottage at Lasswade which is on
the Esk about seven miles from Edinburgh; from
there they moved to Ashesteil situated on the south¬
ern bank of the Tweed, a few miles from Selkirk.
Here Scott’s family of two boys and two girls had
the fun of playing in an old-fashioned garden with
holly hedges and broad; green terrace walks.
He became famous among the lawyers for his story
IVANHOE
xii
telling. Mien liked to listen to him. In spite of his
desire to keep his law practice, his pleasure led him
toward his literary career. A trip along the Border
country in the fall of 1792 and an excursion in the
following summer into some of the finest districts of
Stirlingshire and Perthshire stimulated his ambi¬
tion. Here he familiarized himself with the country
and people around it by staying a week or ten days
at a time in the homes of the country people.
From 1800, when he was at work on “The Minstrelsy
of the Scottish Border” until the day of his death,
he was to be found in a busy whirl of legal, political,
and literary activity. In 1799, he was given an ap¬
pointment to the sheriffship of Selkirkshire which
relieved him enough financially that he could devote
some time to writing.
Shortly after the appearance of “The Minstrels of
the Scottish Border” in 1802, “The Lay of the Last
Minstrel” appeared in 1805. “Marmion” was pub¬
lished in 1808 and “The Lady of the Lake” in 1810.
The major portion of his early works was poetry.
So good was it that he was offered the Poet-laureate-
ship of England. But because he already was in the
service of the government and because he felt that
there were other men in England who earned their
living entirely by* writing and who were more worthy
than he was for the place, he declined. It is in¬
teresting to note that his activity in this field brought
him recognition from other noted English poets of
the time; namely, Wordsworth, who admired him per¬
sonally; Byron, who was generous of his praise, and
Southey, who later became Poet-laureate. Coleridge
and Scott had already met and were friends.
He had received a second aid financially when he
was appointed in 1806 to a public office which he
held successfully for twenty-five years. He was ap-
Life of Scott
xiii
pointed clerk to the Judges of the Inner Court of
Scotland, which was in session from May 12 to July
12 and again from November 12 to March 12 with a
short vacation at Christmas. He was busy approxi¬
mately six hours a day. Is it not remarkable he
found time to write?
In 1814 he published the novel Waverly which was
at once popular. Guy Mannering, The Antiquary,
Black Dwarf, Old Mortality, The Heart of Midlothian,
and Rob Roy, all followed within the next four years.
The next five years saw the publication of the his¬
torical romances: Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, The Fortunes
of Nigel and Quentin Durward. The Talisman, a tale
of the Crusaders, came out in 1825.
These and many others followed, for Scott
wrote forty-eight books in twenty-nine years from
1802 to 1832. These were translated into foreign
languages. Goethe, a noted German writer, said
that he enjoyed the “wonderful pictures of human
life” that he gained from reading the Waverly novels.
Carlyle once wrote Scott that he was carrying a mes¬
sage from Goethe to Scott. This he sent by letter
with praise of Scott. It is to be regretted that the
two Scottish writers, Scott and Carlyle, never did
meet, for each desired to know the other. They had
corresponded many times.
While Scott was busy with his writing, many other
important events were taking place in his life. He
became the silent partner in 1808 in the firm “John
Ballantyne and Co., Booksellers, Edinburgh.” He
appears to have supplied at least three-fourths of
the capital. Thus he entered into an enterprise that
was later to influence his life materially. In 1811 he
purchased the site of Abbotsford by means of money
borrowed partly on a new poem, Rokeby. No doubt
Mrs. Scott hesitated to move into a small house in
XIV
IVANHOE
a barren plot of land then known by the ugly title
of “Clarty Hole/’ Scott liked ^this place because it
was the scene of the Border battle fought in the
presence of James V between the Kerrs and the
Scotts. Also the river Tweed was there to make a
beginning for the beautiful and interesting estate
which Scott was able to make of it in fourteen years
of labor and with much expenditure of money.
Some of the rooms of Abbotsford, especially those
used most by Scott, are open to visitors to-day,
showing furniture of that time, if not the original.
The castle is large because Scott wanted a place for
his own family, their friends, and all the cousins and
distant relatives. He liked to make people happy.
Though he spent many hours in study and in writing
when he was at Abbotsford, he always found time for
people. One would think, to see his round of activity,
that he did nothing but entertain. Many came to
see him. As his fame grew, many made demands
upon his time, but always he was a considerate, pleas¬
ing host.
The pride that he had in a name and title was
gratified in 1820 when he had conferred upon him a
baronetcy, an honor which he did not seek. It was
evidence of the respect that was felt for him by the
King, and recognition of him as a worthy citizen.
As one naturally expects of a man as thoughtful
of others as Scott was, he took a great interest in
his family. He taught the children much about the
out-of-doors. Indeed, he expected his two daughters
Sophia and Anne, to love nature as much as their
two brothers, Walter, Jr., and Charles. For the girls
he provided tutors so that they received their educa¬
tion entirely in the home. The elder son, who in¬
herited Abbotsford, rose to the position of Captaincy
in the English army. The younger son, Charles, at-
Life of Scott
xv
tended university, caring for literature and refine¬
ment. The two boys were unlike in appearance and
manner: the older tall and athletic, the model of a
cavalier, with gentle frankness; the younger, slender
and delicate in frame with bearing of womanly gentle¬
ness and reserve. They kept to the end of their lives
the warmth of affection of the lovely childhood which
was given them by understanding parents, Lady and
Sir Walter Scott.
Such strong prejudice did Scott have against any¬
one marrying in the month of May that he rushed
away from the ceremony in March in which he be¬
came a baronet that his older daughter might have
her wedding in April. She married J. G. Lockhart,
who afterward wrote the best biography of Scott
written. These two men were great friends. Of his
four children, it is said that Sophia had disposition
and tastes most like her father. While he showed no
partiality, for Anne was a comfort to the family dur¬
ing all illness, he enjoyed the company of Sophia and
that of her husband immensely.
Scott’s only daughter-in-law pleased him as much
as did his son-in-law. Neither Charles nor Anne
married. Upon only one occasion did Scott give a
formal ball. This was on Christmas of 1824. Abbots¬
ford had been completed. The whole castle was in
gala attire, the festival being in honor of the be¬
trothal of his older son, Walter, and Jane, the niece
of his special friend, Sir Adam Ferguson.
The fifth child, or the one who had^ the place in
the affections of Scott as a fifth child, was another
Walter, a nephew for whom Scott provided until the
boy was able to go to India as an engineer. With
all three boys Sir Walter corresponded in letters
that you might find very interesting. This busy fa¬
ther found time always to think of his boys.
XVI
IVANHOE
It is sad to think! that in his last days Scott had
financial worries, but they were not the result
of his own mismanagement. The printing firm,
with which he had earlier connected himself as
a silent pardner, failed. Poor business manage¬
ment on the part of those actively engaged in run¬
ning the business and Scott’s refusal to pay very
strict attention to the conditions that threatened,
so great was his confidence in his friends, led from
bad to worse until complete failure came in 1826.
Being honorable, Scott felt himself obligated to pay
the debts in full. As a result, he wrote rapidly in
spite of ill-health, sorrow at the death of his wife
in the same year as his failure, and worry over his
financial condition. He even offered Abbotsford to
his creditors, but it was refused. By the tenth of
June, 1827, the amount he had earned by writing to¬
ward diminishing his debt was at least twenty-eight
thousand pounds. There is no doubt that his death
was hastened by his worries and overwork.
After Scott was stricken with paralysis, a result of
his strenuous work, he was taken abroad to Italy
by his family in the hopes that he might recover. He
was a much honored guest, the most popular author of
all Europe. He received every mark of attention. Vil¬
las, libraries, and museums were pressed upon him.
The trip probably was too great a strain for him.
At any rate, he was again stricken upon his return
to London. So great was his desire to reach Abbots¬
ford that the doctors consented to his being moved.
His satisfaction at being home made him better for
a time. His last days were pleasant for him, even
though he felt sadness at feeling his vitality slip from
him. On September 21, 1832, Sir Walter Scott died
quietly. A great figure in literature, he had done
nothing throughout his life to mar his reputation
as a man, a good man.
Ivan hoe
XVII
Chronological List of the Best-Known Publica¬
tions of Sir Walter Scott.
1802 — Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.
1805 — The Lay of the Last Minstrel.
1806 — Ballads and Lyrical Pieces.
1808 — Marmion; Life and Works of John Dry den.
1810 — The Lady of the Lake.
1811 — Vision of Don Roderick.
1813 — The Bride of Triermain.
1814 — Life and Works of Jonathan Swift; Waverley.
1815 — Guy Mannering ; The Field of Waterloo.
1816 — The Antiquary ; Tales of My Landlord, First
Series ( The Black Dwarf and Old Mortality) .
1817 — Rob Roy.
1818 — Tales of My Landlord, Second Series ( The
Heart of Mid-Lothian.)
1819 — Tales of My Landlord, Third series ( The Bride
of Lammermoor and Legend of Montrose) ;
lvanhoe .
1820 — The Monastery ; The Abbott; Lives of the Nov¬
elists.
1821 — Kenilworth ; The Pirate.
1822 — The Fortunes of Nigel; Halidon Hill; Macduff's
Gross.
1823 — Quentin Durward; Essay on Romance ; St.
Ronan’s Well.
1824 — Redgauntlet.
1825 — Tales of the Crusades; The Betrothed; The
Talisman.
1826 — Malachi; Letters of Malagrowther ; Woodstock.
1827 — Life of Napoleon Bounaparte; Chronicles of the
xviii
IVANHOE
C (mongate, First Series ( The Two Drovers, The
Highland Widow, The Surgeon’s Daughter);
Tales of a Grandfather, First Series.
1828 — Chronicles of the Canongate, Second Series
( The Fair Maid of Perth) ; Tales of a Grand¬
father, Second Series.
1829 — Ann of Geierstein; History of Scotland; Tales
of a Grandfather, Third Series.
1830 — The Doom of Devorgoil and Auchindrayie; Es¬
says of Ballad Poetry; Tales of a Grandfather.
Fourth Series.
1831 — Tales of my Landlord, Fourth Series ( Count
Robert of Paris and Castle Dangerous.)
Ivan hoe
XIX
LIST OF CHARACTERS APPEARING IN IVANHOE
( A few minor characters have been omitted)
Alicia, Lady, daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse.
Allan-a-Dale, minstrel in Robin Hood’s band.
Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon Prior Aymer.
Anselm, servant to Front-de-Bceuf.
An wold, servant of Cedric.
Athelstane of Coningsburgh, a Saxon thane.
Aymer, prior of Cistercian Abbey of Jorvaulx.
Beaumanoir, Lucas, Marquis de, Grand Master of the
Knights Templars.
Bigot, De, sepeschal to Prince John.
Black Knight — Black Sluggard, Richard.
Bois^Guilbert, Sir Brian de, a Knights Templar.
Bracy, Sir Maurice de, leader of band of free lances.
Cedric of Rot her wood, the Saxon thane.
Clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar Tuck, a hermit.
| Pennet, Father, peasant.
; Disinherited Knight, Ivanhoe.
j Edith, Lady, mother of Athelstane of Coningsburgh.
, Elgitha, maid of Lady Rowena.
Engebred, Eustace — of Front-de-Bceuf’ s household.
: Fitzurse, Waldem:ar, a Norman baron.
| Gilbert, an outlaw.
: Giles, servant of Front-de-Bceuf.
I Grantmesnil, Hugh de, a Norman baron.
| Ivanhoe, Sir Wilfred of, son of Cedric.
! Higg, Saxon peasant.
j Hubert, a forester in service of Sir Philip de Malvoisin.
| Hundebert, in Cedric’s household.
Isaac of York, the Jew.
Ivanhoe, Sir Wilfred of, son of Cedric.
Jocelyn, in Front-de-Boeuf’s household,
i John, Prince, brother of King Richard.
| Kirjath J airman, Jew ; kinsman of Isaac.
Knight of the* Fetterlock, Richard.
| Locksley, Robert, yeoman.
I Malvoisin, Sir Albert de, Preceptor of Knights Templars.
XX
IVANHOE
Martival, Stephen de, Marshal of field of Ashby tourna
merit.
Mont-Fitchet, Preceptor of Knight Templars.
Nathan Ben Israel, Jewish rabbi.
Noir Faineant, Le Richard.
Oswald, Baldwin de, squire to Bois-Guilbert.
Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac.
Richard Coeur-de-Lion, King of England.
Robin Hood, Locksley.
Rowena, Bady, Saxon lady ; ward of Cedric.
Saint Maub, servant of Front-de-Bceuf.
Samuel, Rabbi Ben, friend of Isaac.
Stephen, servant of Front-de-Boeuf.
Ulrica, Ulfried, old Saxon woman.
Vipont, Sir Ralph de, a Knight Hospitaller.
Wamba, Cedric’s jester.
Wibbald, an outlaw.
Woffram, a Saxon, Abbot of St. Edmund’s.
Wyvil, William de, marshal of the field at Ashby tourna
ment.
Ivanhoe
CHAPTER I
Thus, communed these; while to their lowly dome.
The full-fed swine return’d with evening home :
Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties,
With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries.
Pope’s Odyssey.
In that pleasant district of merry England which
is watered by the river Don, there extended in an¬
cient times a large forest, covering the greater part
of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between
Sheffield1 and the pleasant town of Doncaster.2 3 The
remains of this extensive wood are still to be seen
at the noble seats of Wentworth, of Wharncliffe
Park, and around Rotherham. Here haunted of yore
the fabulous Dragon of Wanteys; here were fought
many of the most desperate battles during the Civil
Wars of the Roses ;4 and here also flourished in
ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws, whose
deeds have been rendered so popular in English
song.
'This city in Yorkshire is noted for cutlery.
2Tlie termination castra , derived from the Latin word
castra meaning “military camp.” shows the Roman in¬
fluence. It is to be found in Lancaster, Leicester, and
Chester. Doncaster means the camp on the river Don.
3Wantley, a mispronunciation of Wharncliffe. Percy’s
Reliques tells the legend of the killing of the dragon by
More, a legendary hero clad in armor, who succeeded in
his heroic deed by attacking the monster in the mouth, the
only vulnerable spot.
4Civil wars in England lasting from 1450-1485. The name
comes from the emblems of the opposing sides which were
roses, the white rose the emblem of the House of York
and the red rose that of the House of Lancaster.
2
IVANHOE
Such being our chief scene, the date of our story
refers to a period towards the end of the reign of
Richard I.,1 when his return from his long captivity
had become an event rather wished than hoped for
by his despairing subjects, who were in the mean¬
time subjected to every species of subordinate op¬
pression. The nobles, whose power had become ex¬
orbitant during the reign of Stephen,2 and whom the
prudence of Henry the Second3 had scarce reduced
* into some degree of subjection to the crown, had
now resumed their ancient license in its utmost ex¬
tent; despising the feeble interference of the En¬
glish Council of State,4 fortifying their castles, in¬
creasing the number of their dependents, reducing
all around them to a state of vassalage, and striv¬
ing by every means in their power, to place them¬
selves each at the! head of such forces as might en¬
able him to make a figure in the national convul¬
sions which appeared to be impending.
The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins,
as they were called, who, by the law and spirit of the
English constitution, were entitled to hold them¬
selves independent of feudal tyranny,0 became now
unusually precarious. If, as was most generally the
case, they placed themselves under the protection of
any of the petty kings6 in their vicinity, accepted
^ing of England from 1189-1199. He was absent for
long periods during which he was in one of the Crusades.
He was captured and held in Austria, returning in 1194.
During his absence his brother John reigned.
aKing of England 1135-1154.
•King of England 1154-1189; father of Richard I.
4A general name given to the king’s advisers.
®A freeman held land in his own right, subject only to
the king and independent of lords or barons.
°The barons.
IVANHOE
3
of feudal offices in his household, or bound them¬
selves, by mutual treaties of alliance and protection,
to support him in his enterprises, they might indeed
purchase temporary repose; but it must be with the
sacrifice of that independence which was so dear to
every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of
being involved as a party in whatever rash expedi¬
tion the ambition of their protector might lead him
to undertake. On the other hand, such and so mul¬
tiplied were the means of vexation and oppression
possessed by the great Barons, that they never
wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass
and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, any
of their less powerful neighbors, who attempted to
separate themselves from their authority, and to
trust for their protection, during the dangers of the
times, to their own inoffensive conduct, and to the
laws of the land.
A circumstance which greatly tended to enchance
the tyranny of the nobility, and the sufferings of the
inferior classes, arose from the consequences of the
Conquest by Duke William of Normandy.1 Four
generations had not sufficed to blend the hostile
blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite,
by common language and mutual interests, two hos¬
tile races, one of which still felt the elation of tri¬
umph, while the other groaned under all the con¬
sequences of defeat. The power had been complete¬
ly placed in the hands of the Norman nobility, by
the event of the battle of Hastings,2 and it had been
m '
’William the Conqueror.
2William the Conqueror invaded England and at the
battle of Hastings, 1066, conquered Harold, the English
king. He set up the fuedal system, parceling out the
land to his Norman followers.
4
IVANHOE
used, as our histories assure us, with no moderate
hand. The whole race of Saxon princes and nobles
had been extirpated or disinherited, with few or no
exceptions; nor were the numbers great who pos¬
sessed land in the country of their fathers, even as
proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior classes.
The royal policy had long been to weaken, by every*
means, legal or illegal, the strength of a part of the
population which was justly considered as nourish¬
ing the most inveterate antipathy to their victor.
All the monarchs of the Norman race had shown
the most marked predilection for their Norman sub¬
jects; the laws of the chase, and many others, equal¬
ly unknown to the milder and more free spirit of
the Saxon constitution, had been fixed upon the neck
of the subjugated inhabitants, to add weight, as it
were, to the feudal chains with which they were
loaded. At court, and in the castles of the great
nobles, where the pomp and state of a court was
emulated, Norman-French was the only language
employed; in courts of law, the pleadings and judg¬
ments were delivered in the same tongue. In short,
French was the language of honor, of chivalry, and
even of justice while the far more manly and ex¬
pressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of
rustics and hinds, who knew no other. Still, how¬
ever, the neces'sary intercourse between the lords of
the soil, and those oppressed (inferior beings by,
whom that soil wa'3 cultivated, occasioned the grad¬
ual formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the
French and the Anglo-Saxon, in iwhich they could
render themselves mutually intelligible to each
other; and from this necessity arose by degrees the
structure of our present English language, in which
the speech of the victors and the vanquished have
been so happily blended together; and which has
IVANHOE
5
since been so richly improved by importations from
the classical languages, and from those spoken by
the southern nations of Europe.
This state of things I have thought it necessary
to premise for the information of the general reader,
who might be apt to forget, that, although no great
historical events, such as war or insurrection, mark
the existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a separate peo¬
ple subsequent to the reign of William the Second1 2;
yet the great national distinctions betwixt them and
their conquerors, the recollection of what they had
formerly been, and to what they were now reduced,
continued, down to the reign of Edward the Third,'’
to keep open the wounds which the Conque t had in¬
flicted, and to' maintain a line of separation betwixt
the descendants of the victor Normans and the van¬
quished Saxons.
The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy
glades of that forest, which we have mentioned in
the beginning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad¬
headed, short-stemmed, wide-branched oak:, which
had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the
Roman soldiery,3 flung their gnarled arms over a
thick carpet of the most delicious greensward; in
some places they were intermingled with beeches,
hollies, and copsewood of various descriptions, so
closely as totally to intercept the level beams of the
sinking sun; in others they receded from each other,
forming those long sweeping vistas, in the intricacy
of which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagi-
]The son of the Conqueror, William Rufus, King 1087-
1100.
2King, 1327-1377.
3The Romans beginning in 55 B. C. had ruled England
for several hundred years.
Question: How did the present English language grow?
6
Ivan hoe
nation considers them as the paths to yet wilder
scenes of sylvan solitude. Here the red rays of the
sun shot a broken and discolored light, that parti¬
ally hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy
trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in
brilliant patches the portions of turf to which they
made their way. A considerable open space, in the
midst of this glade, seemed formerly to have been
dedicated to the rites of Druidical superstition1;
for, on the summit of a hillock, so regularly as to
seem artificial, there .still remained part of a circle
of rough unhewn stones, of large dimensions.
Seven stood upright; the rest had been dislodged
from their places, probably by the zeal of some con¬
vert of Christianity, and lay, some prostrate near
their former site, and others on the side of the hill.
One large stone only had found its way to the bot¬
tom, and in stopping the course of a small brook,
which glided smoothly round the foot of the emin¬
ence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of mur¬
mur to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet.
The human figures which completed this land¬
scape, were in number two, partaking, in their dress
and appearance, of that wild and rustic character,
which belonged to the woodlands of the West-Rid¬
ing2 of Yorkshire at that early period. The elder of
these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His
garment was of the simplest form imaginable, being
Hn the great open spaces altars were erected for wor¬
ship by the Druids, the priests of the ancient Britons or
Celts in Gaul, Britain, and Ireland. The Druids not only
had charge of matters of religion but held offices of judi¬
cial character.
2One of the three divisions of the county of York, North
Riding, East-Riding, and West-Riding.
Question: How does the paragraph beginning on this
page connect the preceding paragraphs to those following?
IVANHOE
7
a close jacket with sleeves, composed of the tanned
skin of some animal, on which the hair had been
originally left, but which had been worn oit in so
many places, that it would have been difficult to dis¬
tinguish from the patches that remained, to what
creature the fur had belonged. This primeval vest¬
ment reached from the throat to the knees, and
served at once all the usual purposes of body-cloth¬
ing; there was no wider opening at the collar, than
was necessary to admit the passage of the head,
from which it may be inferred, that it was put on by
slipping it over the head and shoulders, in the man¬
ner of a modern shirt, or ancient hauberk.1 Sandals,
bound with thongs made of boar’s hide, protected
the feet, and a roll of thin leather was twined arti¬
ficially round the legs, and, ascending above the
calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish
Highlander. To make the jacket sit yet more close
to the body, it was gathered at the middle by a
broad leathern belt, secured by a brass buckle, to
one side of which was attached a sort of scrip, and
to the other a ram’s horn, accoutered with a mouth¬
piece, for the purpose of blowing. In the same belt
was stuck one of those long, broad, sharp-pointed,
and two-edged knives, with a buck’s horn handle,
which were fabricated in the neighborhood, and
bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield
whittle. The man had no covering upon his head,
which was only defended by his own thick hair,
matted and twisted together, and scorched by the
influence of the sun into a rusty dark-red color,
1A coat of mail formed of interwoven steel rings, that
reached as far as the knees, being cut in the front and
in the hack for convenience in riding. Sleeves ran a
little below the elbow.
Question : What color hair did Gurth have?
8
1VANH0E
forming a contrast with the overgrown beard upon
his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber
hue. One part of his drec,s only remains, but it is
too remarkable to be suppressed; it was a brass
ring, resembling a dog’s collar, but without any
opening, and soldered fast round his neck, so loose
as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet so
tight as to be incapable of being removed, excepting
by the use of the file. On this singular gorget was
engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription of
the following purport: — “Gurth, the son of Beowulph,
is the born thrall of Cedric1 of Rotherwood.”
Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s oc¬
cupation, was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidi-
cal monuments, a person about ten years younger in
appearance, and whose dress, though resembling hi*
companion’s in form, was of better materials, and of
a more fantastic appearance. His jacket had been
stained of a bright purple hue, upon which there
had been some attempt to paint grotesque orna¬
ments in different colors. To the jacket he added a
short cloak, which scarcely reached half-way down
his thigh. It was of crimson cloth, though a good
deal soiled, lined with bright yellow; and as he
could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or
at his pleasure draw it all around him, its width,
contrasted with its want of longitude, formed a
fantastic piece of drapery. He had thin silver
bracelets upon his arms, and on his neck a collar
of the same metal, bearing the inscription, “Wamba,
the son of Witless, is the thrall of Cedric of Rother¬
wood”. This personage had the same sort of sand¬
als with his companion, but instead of the roll of
leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort of gait-
1The Saxon form of the name was properly Cerdic but
Scott chose the name Cedric.
IVANHOE
9
ers, of which one was red and the other yellow. He
was provided also with a cap, having around it more
than one bell, about the size of those attached to
hawks, which jingled as he turned his head to one
side or the other; and as he seldom remained a
minute in the same posture, the sound might be con¬
sidered as incessant. Around the edge of this cap
was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the top into
open work, resembling a coronet, while a prolonged
bag arose from within it; and fell down on one
shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap, or a jelly-
bag, or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was
to this part of the cap that the bells were attached ;
which circumstance, as well as the shape of his
head-dress, and his own half-crazed, half-cunning
] expression of countenance, sufficiently pointed him
j out as belonging to the race of domestic clowns or
jesters, maintained in the houses of the wealthy, to
i help away the tedium of those lingering hours winch
they were obliged to spend within doors. He bore,
like his companion, a scrip attached to his belt, but
had neither horn nor knife, being probably consid-
I ered as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed
I dangerous to intrust with edge-tools. In place of
these, he was equipped with a sword of lath,1 re¬
sembling that with which Harlequin operates his
wonders upon the modern stage.
The outward appearance of these two men formed
scarce a stronger contrast than their looks and
i demeanor. That of the serf, or bondsman, was sad
and sullen; his aspect was bent on the ground with
! an air of deep dejection, which might be almost con¬
strued into apathy, had not the fire which occasion-
i ally sparkled in his red eye manifested that there
Similar to the dagger of lath carried in the old miracle
and moral plays by Vice.
10
Ivan hoe
slumbered, under the appearance of sullen despon¬
dency, a sense of oppression, and a disposition to
resistance. The looks of Wamba, on the otner hand,
indicated, as usual with his class, a sort of vacant
curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any posture of
repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction
respecting his own situation, and the appearance
which he made. The dialogue which they main¬
tained between them, was carried on in Anglo-
Saxon, which, as we have said before, was univer¬
sally spoken by the inferior classes, excepting the
Norman soldiers and the immediate personal depen¬
dents of the great feudal nobles. But to give their
conversation in the original would convey but little
information to the modern reader, for whose benefit
we beg to offer the following translation:
“The curse of St. Withold1 upon these infernal
porkers!” said the swineherd, after blowing his
horn obstreperously, to collect together the scat¬
tered herd of swine, which, answering his call with
notes equally melodious, made, however, no haste to
remove themselves from the luxurious banquet of
beech-mast and acorns on which they had fattened,
or to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet, where
several of them, half plunged in mud, lay stretched
at their ease, altogether regardless of the voice of
their keeper. “The curse of St. Withold upon them
and upon me!” said Gurth; “if the two-legged wold2 3
snap not up some of them ere nightfall, I am no true
man8. Here, Fangs! Fangs!” he ejaculated at the
top of his voice to a ragged, wolfish-looking dog, a
sort of lurcher, half mastiff, half greyhound, which
1An imaginary Saxon saint. See Edgar’s song in King
Lear, III, 4, 125.
2The outlaw was supposed to bear a wolf’s head.
3Opposite of thief.
IVANHOE
11
ran limping about as if with the purpose of second¬
ing his master in collecting the refractory grunters;
but which, in fact, from misapprehension of the
swineherd’s signals, ignorance of his own duty, or
malice prepense, only drove them hither and thither,
and increased the evil which he seemed to design to
remedy. “A devil draw the teeth of him,” said
Gurth, “and the mother of mischief confound the
Ranger of the forest,* 1 that cuts the foreclaws off our
i dogs, and makes them unfit for their trade! Wam-
| ba, up and help me an thou beest a man ; take a turn
] round the back o’ the hill to gain the wind on them;
and when thou’st got the weather-gage,2 thou mayst
drive them before thee as gently as so many inno¬
cent lambs.”
“Truly,” .said Wamba, without stirring from the
| spot, “I have consulted my legs upon this matter,
and they are altogether of opinion, that to carry my
gay garments through these sloughs, would be an
act of unfriendship to my sovereign person and roy¬
al wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, I advise thee to call
off Fangs, and leave the herd to their destiny,
which, whether they meet with bands of traveling
soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering pilgrims,
i can be little else than to be converted into Norman
j before morning, to thy no small ease and comfort.”
“The swine turn Normans to my comfort!”
quoth Gurth, “expound that to me, Wamba, for my
brain is too dull, and my mind too vexed, to read
riddles.”
’The Forest Laws of the Norman conquerors, who were
lovers of the chase, provided for the mutilating of the
| shepherd dogs so that they could not chase the deer. The
i three claws of the right foot were cut off in this lawing
as it was called. (See appendix)
Position of advantage, or “are to windward of', a nau-
tical expression.
12
IVANHOE
“Why,, how call you those grunting brutes run¬
ning about on their four legs?” demanded Wamba.
“Swine, fool, swine,” said the herd; “every fool
knows that.”
“And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; “but
how call you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn,
and quartered, and hung up by the heels, like a
traitor?”
“Pork,” answered the swineherd.
“I am very glad every fool knows that, too,” said
Wamba; “and pork, I think, is good Norman-
French; and so when the brute lives, and is in the
charge of a Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon
name; but becomes a Norman, and is called pork,
when she is carried to the Castle-hall to feast
among the nobles. What dost thou think of this,
friend Gurth, ha?”
“It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, how¬
ever it got into thy fool’s pate.”
“Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba, in the
same tone, “there is old Alderman Ox continues to
hold his Saxon epithet, while he is under the charge
of serfs and bondsmen such as thou, but becomes
Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrives before
the worshipful jaws that are destined to consume
him. Mynheer Calf", too. becomes Monsieur de Veau* 2
in the like manner; he is Saxon when he requires
tendance, and takes a Norman name when he be¬
comes matter of enjoyment.”
“By St. Dunstan,”3 answered Gurth, “thou
xMr. Calf.
2Mr. Veal.
3 Archbishop of Canterbury who lived 924-988.
Question: Think of other words besides those that
Wamba gives that show the distinction between the Nor¬
man and Saxon tongues.
IVANHOE
13
speakest but sad truths; little is left to us but the
air we breathe, and that appears to have been re¬
served with much hesitation, solely for the purpose
of enabling us to endure the tasks they lay upon
our shoulders. The finest and the fattest is for
their board; the loveliest is for their couch; the
best and bravest supply their foreign masters with
| soldiers, and whiten distant lands with their bones,
; leaving few here who have either will or the power
to protect the unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing on
| our Master Cedric ; he hath done the work of a man
Sin standing in the gap; but Reginald Front-de-Bceuf
! is coming down to this country in person, and we
shall soon see how little Cedric’s trouble will avail
him. — Here, here,” he exclaimed again, raising his
j voice. “So ho! so ho! well done, Fangs! thou hast
I them all before thee now, and bring’st them on
bravely, lad.”
“Gurth,” said the Jester, “I know thou thinkest me
a fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting
thy head into my mouth. One word to Reginald
| Front-de-Boeuf, or Philip de Malvoisin, that thou
hast spoken treason against the Norman, — and thou
art but a castaway swineherd — thou wouldst waver
on one of these trees as a terror to all evil speakers
against dignities.”
“Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth,
“after having led me on to speak so much at dis¬
advantage?”
“Betray thee!” answered the Jester; “no, that
were the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so
j well' help himself.- — But soft, whom have we here?”
he said, listening to the trampling of several horses
' which became then audible.
“Never mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had
I now got his herd before him, and, with the aid of
14
Ivan hoe
Fangs, was driving them down one of the long dim
vistas which we have endeavored to describe.
“Nay, but I must see the riders,” answered
Wamba; “perhaps they are come from Fairyland
with a message from King Oberon.”1
“A murrain take thee,” rejoined the swineherd;
“wilt thou talk of such things, while a terrible
storm of thunder and lightning is raging within a
few miles of us? Hark, how the thunder rumbles!
and for summer rain, I never saw such broad down¬
right flat drops fall out of the clouds; the oaks, too,
notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and creak
with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest.
Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit me
for once, and let us home ere the storm begins to
rage, for the night will be fearful.”
Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal,
and accompanied his companion, who began his
journey after catching up a long quarter-staff which
lay upon the grass beside him. This second Eu-
maeus" strode hastily down the forest glade, driving
before him, with the assistance of Fangs, the whole
herd of his inharmonious charge.
Hving* of the fairies. Titania was his wife. See Shakes¬
peare’s Midsummer Night's Dream .
2The swineherd of Ulysses in Homer's The Odyssey.
Question : How are you prepared for new characters in
the next chapter?
CHAPTER II
A Monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie,
An outrider who loved venerie
A manly man, to he an Abbot able,
Full many a dainty horse had he in stable :
And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud, as doth the cliapeil bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.
Chaucer.
Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and
childing of his companion, the noise of the horse¬
men’s feet continuing to approach, Wamba could not
be prevented from lingering occasionally on the
road, upon every pretense which occurred; now
catching from the hazel a cluster of half-ripe nuts,
iand now turning his head to leer after a cottage
imaiden who crossed their path. The horsemen,
itherefore, soon overtook them on the road.
Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom
the two who rode foremost seemed to be persons of
j considerable importance, and the others their attend¬
ants. It was not difficult to ascertain the condition
and character of one of these personages. He was
'obviously an ecclesiastic of high rank; his dress
was that of a Cistercian Monk,1 but composed of ma¬
terials much finer than those which the rule of that
order admitted- His mantle and hood were of the
Ibest Flanders cloth, and fell in ample, and not un¬
igraceful folds, around a handsome, though some¬
what corpulent person. His countenance bore as
little the marks of self-denial, as his habit indicated
^One of the monastic order founded as a stricter branch
of the Benedictines in 109§ at Citeaux (Cistercium, “the
cisterns”) in France*
16
IVANHOE
contempt of worldly splendor. His features might
have been called good, had there not lurked under
the pent-house1 2 of his eye, that sly epicurean" twin¬
kle which indicates the cautious voluptuary. In
other respects, his profession and situation had
taught him a ready command over his countenance,
which he. could contract at pleasure into solemnity,
although its natural expression was that of good-
humored social indulgence. In defiance of convent¬
ual rules, and the edicts of popes and councils, the
sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned up
with rich furs, his mantle secured at the throat
with a golden clasp, and the whole dress proper to
his order as much refined upon and ornamented, as
that of a Quaker beauty of the present day, who,
while she retains the garb and costume of her sect,
continues to give to its simplicity, by the choice of
materials and the mode of disposing them, a cer¬
tain air of coquettish attraction, savoring but too
much of the vanities of the world.
This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed
ambling mule, whose furniture was highly deco¬
rated. and whose bridle, according to the fashion
of the day, was ornamented with silver bells. Tn
his seat he had nothing of the awkardness of the
convent, but displayed the easy and habitual grace
of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it eemed that
so humble a conveyance as a mule, in however good
case, and however well broken to a pleasant and ac¬
commodating amble, was only used by the gallant
monk for traveling on the road. A lay brother,3 one
^‘Sloping roof.” The monk had overshadowing brows. ■
2Refers to the philosophy of Epicurus who advocated
pleasure, especially eatingg and drinking, as the chief aim
of life.
3One who has not taken hoiy orders but who serves in the
monastery under the same vows as the priest.
Ivan hoe
17
of those who followed in the train, had, for his use
on other occasions, one of the most handsome Span¬
ish jennets1 ever bred at Andalusia,2 which mer¬
chants used at that time to import, with great
trouble and risk, for the use of persons of wealth
and distinction. The saddle and housings of this
superb palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth,
which reached nearly to the ground, and on which
- where richly embroidered miters, crosses, and other
i ecclesiastical emblems. Another lay brother led a
sumpter mule, loaded probably with his superior’s
baggage; and two monks of hisDwn order, of inferi¬
or station, rode together in the rear, laughing and
conversing with each other, without taking much
notice of the other members of the cavalcade.
The companion of the church dignitary was a man
past forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an ath¬
letic figure, which long fatigue and constant exer-
| cise seemed to have left none of the softer part of
the human form, having reduced the whole to brawn,
bones, and sinews, which had sustained a thousand
toils, and were ready to dare a thousand more. His
head was covered with a scarlet cap, faced with fur
— of that kind which the French call mortier ,3 from
its resemblance to the shape of an inverted mortar.
His countenance was therefore fully displayed, and
its expression was calculated to impress a degree
of awe, if not of fear, upon strangers. High fea¬
tures, naturally strong and powerfully expressive,
had been burnt almost into Negro blackness by con¬
stant exposure to the tropical sun, and might, in
their ordinary state, be said to slumber after the
storm of passion had passed away; but the projec-
*A small Spanish saddle horse.
2A division of Southern Spain.
8A high round cap with projecting crown*
18
IVANHOE
tion of the veins of the forehead, the readiness with
which the upper lip and its thick black mustaches
quivered upon the slightest emotion, plainly inti¬
mated that the tempest might be again and easily
awakened. His keen, piercing, dark eyes told in
every glance a history of difficulties subdued, and
clangers dared, and seemed to challenge opposition ,
to his wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping it from
his road by a determined exertion of courage and \
of will ; a deep scar on his brow gave additional j
sternness to his countenance, and a sinister expres-1
sion to one of his eyes, which had been slightly in¬
jured on the same occasion, and of which the vision
though perfect, was in a slight and partial degree j
distorted.
The upper dress of this personage resembled that
of his companion in shape, being a long monastic;
mantle; but the color, being scarlet, showed that he
did not belong to any of the four regular orders of
monks.1 On the right shoulder of the mantle there
was cut, in white cloth, a cross of a peculiar form.!
This upper robe concealed what at first view seemed
rather inconsistent with its form, a shirt, namely, of
linked mail, with sleeves and gloves of the same,
curiously plaited and interwoven, as flexible to the
body a^ those which are now wrought in the stock¬
ing-loom, out of less obdurate materials. The fore¬
part of his thighs, where the folds of his mantle
permitted them to be seen, were also covered with
linked mail; the knees and feet were defended by
splints, or thin plates of steel, ingeniously jointed
upon each other; and mail hose, reaching from the
■'Probably the four orders of friars though they were not
established until after Richard’s time. They were : Fran¬
ciscans, or grey friars ; Carmelites, or white friars ; Au-
gustinians, or black friars ; and Dominicans, or black friars.
B
IVANHOE
19
ankle to the knee, effectually protected the legs, and
completed the rider’s defensive armor. In his girdle
he wore a long and double-edged dagger, which was
the only offensive weapon about his person.
He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a
strong hackney for the road, to save his gallant war-
horse, which a squire led behind, fully accoutered
for battle, with a chamfron or plaited head-piece
upon his head, having a short spike projecting from
the front. On one side of the saddle hung a short
battle-ax, richly inlaid with Damascene1 2 carving; on
the other the rider’s plumed head-piece and hood of
mail, with a long two-handed sword, used by the
chivalry of the period. A second squire held aloft
nis master’s lance, from the extremity of which flut¬
tered a small banderole, or streamer, bearing a cross
of the same form with that embroidered upon his
cloak. He also carried his small triangular shield,
broad enough at the top to protect the breast, and
from thence diminishing to a point. It was covered
with a scarlet cloth, which prevented the device-'
from being seen.
These two squires were followed by two atten¬
dants, whose dark visages, white turbans, and the
Oriental form of their garments, showed them to be
natives of some distant Eastern country. The whole
appearance of this warrior and his retinue was wild
and outlandish; the dress of his squires was gor¬
geous, and his Eastern attendants3 wore silver col¬
lars round their throats, and bracelets of the same
Damascus was famous for its swords and ornamenta¬
tion in iron and steel.
2The motto or distinctive badge on the shield.
3 Scott says that it would have been natural for the Temp¬
lars to have brought back slaves from the East; at least
there is no proof against it. (See appendix)
20
IVANHOE
metal upon their swarthy arms and legs, of which
the former were naked from the elbow, and the lat¬
ter from mid-leg to ankle. Silk and embroidery dis¬
tinguished their dresses, and marked the wealth and
importance of their master; forming, at the same
time, a striking contrast with the martial simplicity
of his own attire. They were armed with crooked
sabers, having the hilt and baldric1 inlaid with gold,
and matched with Turkish daggers of yet more
costly workmanship. Each of them bore at his
•saddle-bow a bundle of darts or javelins, about four
feet in length, having sharp steel heads, a weapon
much in use among the Saracens,2 and of which the
memory is yet preserved in the martial exercise
called El Jerrid,3 still practiced in the Eastern coun¬
tries.
The steeds of these attendants were in appear¬
ance as foreign as their riders. They were of Sara¬
cen origin, and consequently of Arabian descent;
and their fine slender limbs, small fetlocks, thin
manes, and easy springy motion, formed a marked
contrast with the large-jointed heavy horses, of
which the race was cultivated in Flanders and in
Normandy, for mounting the men-at-arms of the
period in all the panoply of plate and mail; and
which, placed by the side of those Eastern coursers,
might have passed for a personification of substance
and of shadow.
The singular appearance of this cavalcade not
*A belt crossing the shoulder and breast diagonally used
to support the weapon.
2Fierce enemies of the Holy Roman Empire, especially
of the crusaders. They were members of one of the no-
madic tribes of the Syro-Arabian desert, and were Moham¬
medans.
8 A military exercise or sham battle with a short javelin.
IVANHOE
21
only attracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited
even that of his less volatile companion. The monk
he instantly knew to be the Prior' of Jorvaulx Ab¬
bey," well known for many miles around as a lover
of the chase, of the banquet, and, if fame did him
not wrong, of other wordly pleasures still more in¬
consistent with his monastic vows.
Yet so loose were the ideas of tne times respecting
the conduct of the clergy, whether secular or reg¬
ular, that the Prior Aymer maintained a fair char¬
acter in the neighborhood of his abbey. His free
and jovial temper, and the readiness with which he
granted absolution from all ordinary delinquencies,
rendered him a favorite among the nobility and prin¬
cipal gentry, to several of whom he was allied by
birth, being of a distinguished Norman family.
The ladies, in particular, were not disposed to scan
too nicely the morals of a man who was a professed
admirer of their sex, and who possessed many means
of dispelling the ennui which was too apt to intrude
upon the halls and bowers of an ancient feudal cas-
j tie. The Prior mingled in the sports of the field
I with more than due eagerness, and was allowed to
possess the best-trained hawks and the fleetest grey¬
hounds in the North Riding, circumstances which
strongly recommended him to the youthful gentry.
With the old, he had another part to play, which,
when needful, he could sustain with great decorum. *
His knowledge of books, however superficial, was
*Next in rank to the abbott. Aymer was called both Prior
and Abbot, without distinction between the head of an
Abbey and the head of Priory.
2This Cistercian Abbey was in the valley of the river
Jore or Ure in North Riding of Yorkshire.
Question : How many different classes of people liked
the Prior?
22
IVANHOE
sufficient to impress upon their ignorance respect
for his supposed learning; and the gravity of his
deportment and language, with the high tone wnich
he exerted in setting forth the authority of the
church and of the priesthood, impressed them no less
with an opinion of his sanctity. Even the com¬
mon people, the severest critics of the conduct of
their betters, had commiseration with the follies of
Prior Aymer. He was generous; and charity, as
it is well known, covereth a multitude of sins,1 in an¬
other sense than that in which it is said to do so
in Scripture. The revenues of the monastery, of
which a large part was at his disposal, while they
gave him the means of supplying his own very con¬
siderable expenses, afforded also those largesses
which he bestowed among the peasantry, and with
which he frequently relieved the distresses of the
oppressed. If Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase,
or remained long at the banquet, — if Prior Aymer
was seen, at the early peep of dawn, to enter the
postern of the abbey, as he glided home from some
rendezvous which had occupied the hours of dark¬
ness, men only shrugged up their shoulders, and rec¬
onciled themselves to his irregularities, by recollect¬
ing that the same were practiced by many of his
brethren who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever
to atone for them. Prior Aymer, therefore, and his
•character, were well known to our Saxon serfs, who
made their rude obeisance and received his “bene-
dicte mes fils,”2 in return.
But the singular appearance of his companion
and his attendants, arrested their attention and ex¬
cited their wonder, and they could scarcely attend to
the Prior of Jorvaulx’ question, when he demanded
"Peter IV. S. charity — love.
2Bless you, my sons.
IVANHOE
23
if they knew of any place of harborage in the vicin¬
ity; so much were they surprised at the half mon¬
astic, half military appearance of the swarthy stran¬
ger, and at the uncouth dress and arms of his East¬
ern attendants. It is probable, too, that the lan¬
guage in which the benediction was conferred, and
the information asked, sounded ungracious, though
not probably unintelligible, in the ears of the Saxon
peasants.
“I asked you, my children/’ said the Prior, rais¬
ing his voice, and using the lingua Franca, or mixed
language, in which the iNiorman and Saxon races
conversed with each other, “if there be in this neigh¬
borhood any good man, who, for the love of God,
and devotion to Mother Church, will give two of
( her humblest servants, with their train, a night’s
! hospitality and refreshment?”
This he spoke with a tone of conscious impor¬
tance, which formed a strong contrast to the modest
terms which he thought it proper to employ.
“Two of the humblest servants of Mother
Church!” repeated Wamba to himself, — but, fool as
he was, taking care not to make his observation
audible; “I should like to see her seneschals, her
chief butlers, and her other principal domestics!”
After this internal commentary on the Prior's
speech, he raised his eyes, and replied to the ques¬
tion which had been put.
“If the reverend fathers,” he said, “loved good
| cheer and soft lodging, few miles of riding would
| carry them to the Priory of Brinxworth, where their
! quality could not but secure them the most honor¬
able reception; or if they preferred spending a
penitential evening; they might turn down yonder
wild glade, which would bring them to the hermit¬
age of Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoret would
24
IVANHOE
make them sharers for the night of the shelter of
his roof and the benefit of his prayers.”
The Prior shook his head at both proposals.
“Mine honest friend,” said he, “if the jangling
of thy bells had not dizzied thine understanding,
thou mightst know Clericus clericum non decimat;
that is to say, we churchmen do not exhaust each
other’s hospitality, but rather require that of the
laity; giving them thus an opportunity to serve God
in honoring and relieving his appointed servants.”
“It is true,” replied Wamba, “that I, being but
an ass, am, nevertheless, honored to bear the bells
as well as your reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I
did conceive that the charity of Mother Church and
her servants might be said, with other charity, to
begin at home.”
“A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the
armed rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high
and stern voice, “and tell us, if thou canst, the
road to - How call’d you your Franklin, Prior
Aymer?”
“Cedric,” answered the Prior; “Cedric the Saxon.
— Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling,
and can you show us the road?”
“The road will be uneasy to find,” answered
Gurth, who broke silence for the first time, “and the
family of Cedric retire early to rest.”
“Tush, tell 'not me, fellow!” said the military
rider; “’tis easy for them to arise and supply the
wants of travelers such as we are, who will not
stoop to beg the hospitality which we have a right
to command.”
“I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “if I should
show the way to my master’s house, to those who
demand as a right, the shelter which most are fain
to ask as a favor.”
IVANHOE
25
“Do you dispute with me, slave!” said the soldier;
and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused him to
make a demivolte1 across the path, raising at the
same time the guiding rod which he held in his hand,
with a purpose of chastising what he considered as
the insolence of the peasant.
Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful
scowl, and with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid
his hand on the haft of his knife; but the inter¬
ference of Prior Aymer, who pushed his mule be¬
twixt his companion and the swineherd, prevented
the meditated violence.
“Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not
think you are now in Palestine, predominating over
heathen Turks and infidel Saracens; we islanders
love not blows, save those of holy Church, who
j chasteneth whom she loveth. — Tell me, good fellow,”
| said he to Wamba, and seconded his speech by a
j small piece of silver coin, “the way to Cedric the
j Saxon’s ; you cannot be ignorant of it, and it is your
i duty to direct the wanderer even when his character
I is less sanctified than ours.”
“In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jes¬
ter, “the Saracen head of your right reverend com¬
panion has frightened out of mine the way home —
I am not sure I shall get there to-night myself.”
“Tush,” said the Abbot, “thou canst tell us if
thou wilt. This reverend brother has been all his
life engaged in fighting among the Saracens for the
recovery of the Holy Sepulcher,2 he is of the order
1A half-turn with the fore-legs raised from the ground.
2A11 the Christian world was aglow with religious fervor
to wrest the Holy Land from the Mohammedans. Military
expeditions known as the Crusades were made for that
purpose. In the First Crusade 1096-1099 Jerusalem was
taken. The Mohammedans took it again in the Third Cru-
26
Ivan hoe
of Knights Templars1 whom you may have heard of;
he is half a monk, half a soldier.”
“If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “he
should not be wholly unreasonable with those whom
he meets upon the road, even if they should be in
no hurry to answer questions that no way concern
them.”
“I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “on con¬
dition thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s man¬
sion.”
“Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences
must hold on this path till you come to a sunken
cross, of which scarce a cubit’s length remains above
ground; then take the path to the left, for there
are four which meet at Sunken Cross, and I trust
your reverences will obtain shelter before the storm
comes on.”
The Abbot thanked (his sage adviser; and the
cavalcade, setting spurs to their horses, rode on as
men do who wish to reach their inn before the burst¬
ing of a night-storm. As their horses’ hoofs died
away, Gurth said to his companion, “If they follow
thy wise direction, the reverend fathers will hardly
reach Rotherwood this night.”
“No,” said the Jester, grinning, “but they may
reach Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is as
fit a place for them. I am not so bad a woodsman as
to show the dog where the deer lies, if I have no
mind he should chase him.”
“Thou art right,” said Gurth; “it were ill that
Aymer saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse, it
sade. Richard, the Lion Heart of England was one of the
three leaders.
XA military order founded in Jerusalem early in the
twelfth century to protect pilgrims to Jerusalem and to
protect the Holy Sepulcher. Their influence and wealth
spread in years.
IVANHOE
27
may be, for Cedric to quarrel, as is most likely he
would, with this military monk. But, like good
servants, let us hear and see, and say nothing/
We return to the riders, who had soon left the
bondsmen far behind them, and who maintained the
following conversation in the Norman-French lan¬
guage, usually employed by the superior classes,
with che exception of the few who were still inclined
to boast their Saxon descent.
“What mean these fellows by their capricious in¬
solence?” said the Templar to the Cistercian, “and
why did you prevent me from chastising it?”
“Marry,* 1 brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “touch¬
ing the one of them, it were hard for me to render
a reason for a fool speaking according to his folly;
and the other churl is of that savage, fierce, in¬
tractable race, some of whom, as I have often told
you, are still to be found among the descendants of
the conquered Saxons, and whose supreme pleasure
it is to Testify, by all means in their power, their
aversion to their conquerors.”
“I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” ob¬
served Brian; “I am accustomed to deal with such
spirits. Our Turkish captives are as fierce and in¬
tractable as Odin* himself could have been; yet two
months in my household under the management of
my master of the slaves, has made them humble,
submissive, serviceable, and observant of your will.
Marry, sir, you must beware of the poison and the
dagger; for they use either with free will when
you give them the slightest opportunity.”
“Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, “every land
has its own manners and fashions; and, besides that.
'An exclamation, abbreviation of Mary or St. Mary re¬
ferring to the Blessed Virgin.
I 2Chief God of Teutons, according to a Norse myth.
28
IVANHOE
beating this fellow could procure us no information
respecting the road to Cedric’s house, it would have
been sure to have established a quarrel betwixt you
and him had we found our way thither. Remember
what I told you; this wealthy Franklin is proud,
fierce, jealous, and irritable; a withstander of the
nobility, and even of his neighbors, Reginald Front-
de-Boeuf, and Philip Malvoisin, who are no babes
to strive with. He stands up so sternly for the priv¬
ileges of his race, and is so proud of his uninter¬
rupted descent from Hereward,1 a renowned cham¬
pion of the Heptarchy,2 that he is universally called
Cedric the Saxon; and makes a boast of his belong¬
ing to a people from whom many others endeavor to
hide their descent, lest they should encounter a
share of the vae victis,3 or severities imposed upon
the vanquished.”
“Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “you are a
man of gallantry, learned in the study of beauty,
and as expert as a troubadour in all matters con¬
cerning che arrets of love ; but I shall expect much
beauty in this celebrated Rowena, to counterbalance
the self-denial and forbearance which I must exert,
if I am to court the favor of such a seditious churl
as you have described her father Cedric.”
“Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior,
“and is but of remote relation; she is descended
from higher blood than even he pretends to, and is
3 One of the Saxon warriors who continued to wage war
against William and the Normans after the Conquest.
"'Seven Saxon states established in early England, Essex,
Sussex, Wassex, East Angilo, Northumbria, Kent, Mercia.
Hereward died in the eleventh century and the Heptarchy
ended in the ninth. This is either an anachronism in the
story or the Prior was to be represented as ignorant of
history.
3Woe to the conquered.
IVANHOE
29
but distantly connected with him by birth. Hef
guardian, however, he is, self-constituted as I be¬
lieve; but his ward is as dear to him as if she were
his own child. Of her beauty you shall soon be
judge; and if the purity of her complexion, and the
majestic yet soft expression of a mild blue eye, do
not chase from your memory the black-tressed girls
of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound’s
paradise, I am an infidel, and no true son of the
church.”
“Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar,
“be weighed in the balance and found wanting, you
known our wager?”
“My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “against
[ten butts of Chian1 wine; — they are mine as securely
as if they were already in the convent vaults, under
the key of old Dennis the cellarer.”
“And I am myself to be judge,” said the Templar,
“and I am only to be convicted on my own admis¬
sion, that I have seen no maiden so beautiful since
Pentecost2 was a twelve-month. Ran it not so? —
Prior, your collar is in danger; I will wear it over
my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.”3
“Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “and wear it as
ye will; I will trust your giving true response, on
your word as a knight and as a churchman. Yet,
brother, take my advice, and file your tongue to a
little more courtesy than your habits of predominat¬
ing over infidel captives and Eastern bondsmen
have accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, if offended,
— and ne is no way slack in taking offense, — is a
man who, without respect to your knighthood, my
i -
i *A Greek wine.
2 A festival fifty days after Easter, in celebration of the
descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Apostles.
3A town in Leicester County, England.
30
IVANHOE
high office, or the sanctity of either, would clear his
house of us, and send us to lodge with the larks,
thougn the hour were midnight. And be careful
how you look on Rowena, whom he cherishes with
the most" jealous care; an1 he take the least alarm
in that quarter we are but lost men. It said he
banished his only son from his family for lifting
his eyes in the way of affection towards this beauty
who may be worshiped, it seems, at a distance, but
is not to be approached with other thought thar
such as we bring to the shrine of the Blessed Vir
gin.”
“Well, you have said enough,” answered the
Templar; “I will for a night put on the needful re
straint, and deport me as meekly as a maiden; bu
as for the fear of his expelling us by violence, my
self and squires, with Harriet and Abc^alla,3 wil
warrant you against that disgrace. Doubt not tha
we shall be strong enough to make good our quar
ters.”
“We must not let it come so far,” answered th
Prior; "but here is the clown's sunken cross, am
the night is so dark that we can hardly see whie'.
of the roads we are to follow. He bid us turn,
think, to the left.”
“To the right,” said Brian, “to the best of m
remembrance.”
“To the left, certainly, the left; I remember hi
pointing with his wooden sword.”
“Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, an
so pointed across his body with it,” said the Temi
lar.
Each maintained his opinion with sufficient o!
*And if.
Two of the Templar’s Saracen slaves. I
Question: What Is the wager made about Roweua?
.
IVANHOE
31
stinacy, as is usual in all such cases ; the attendants
were appealed to, but they had not been near
enough to hear Wamba’s directions. At length Brian
remarked, what had at first escaped him in the twi¬
light. “Here is some one either asleep, or lying
dead at the foot of this cross — Hugo, stir him with
the but-end of thy lance.”
This was no sooner done than the figure arose,
exclaiming in good French, “Whosoever thou art, it
is discourteous in you to disturb my thoughts.”
“We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior,
“the road to Rotherwood, the abode of Cedric the
Saxon.”
“I myself am bound thither,” replied the stran¬
ger; “and if I had a horse, I would be your guide,
for the way is somewhat intricate, though perfectly
well known to me.”
“Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my
friend,” said the Prior, “if thou wilt bring us to
Cedric’s in safety.”
And he caused one of his attendants to mount his
own led horse, and give that upon which he had
hitherto ridden to the stranger, who was to serve
for a guide.
Their conductor pursued an opposite road from
that which Wamba had recommended, for the pur¬
pose of misleading them. The path soon led deeper
into the woodland, and crossed more than one brook,
I the approach to which was rendered perilous by the
marshes through which it flowed; but the stranger
seemed to know, as if by instinct, the soundest
ground and the safest points of passage; and by
dint of caution and attention, brought the party safe¬
ly into a wider avenue than any they had yet seen';
and, pointing to a large, low, irregular building at
the upper extremity, he said to the Prior, “Yonder
32
Ivan hoe
is Rotherwood, the dwelling of Cedric the Saxon.”
This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose
nerves were none of the strongest, and who had
suffered such agitation and alarm in the course of
passing through the dangerous bogs, that he had not
yet had the curiosity to ask his guide a single ques¬
tion. Finding himself now at his ease and near shel¬
ter, his curiosity began to awake, and he demanded
of the guide who and what he was.
“A Palmer,1 just returned from the Holy Land,”
was the answer.
“You had better have tarried there to fight for
the recovery of the Holy Sepulcher,” said the Tem¬
plar.
“True, Reverend Sir Knight,”2 answered the
Palmer, to whom the appearance of the Templar
seemed perfectly familiar; “but when those who are
under oath to recover the holy city, are found travel¬
ing at such a distance from the scene of their duties,
can you wonder that a peaceful peasant like me
should decline the task which they have aban¬
doned?”
The Templar would have made an angry reply, but
was interrupted by the Prior, who again expressed
his astonishment that their guide, after such long
absence, should be iso perfectly acquainted with the
passes of the forest. *
“I was born a native of these parts,” answered
their guide, and as he made the reply they stood
before the mansion of Cedric ; — a low, irregular
building containing several courtyards or inclo^ures,
extending over a considerable space of ground, and
JA professional pilgrim to the Holy places of Jerusalem
who brought home a palm branch as a token.
2The Templars were bound by oath to retake Jerusalem.
Question : Do you guess now who the Palmer is?
IVANHOE
33
which, though its size argued the inhabitant to be
a person of wealth, differed entirely from the tall,
turreted, and castellated buildings in which the Nor¬
man nobility resided, and which had become the
universal style of architecture throughout England.
Rotherwood was not, however, without defenses;
no habitation, in that disturbed period, could have
been so, without the risk of being plundered and
burnt before the next morning. A deep fosse, or
ditch, was drawn round the whole building, and
filled with water from a neighboring stream. A
double stockade, or palisade, composed of pointed
beams, which the adjacent forest supplied, defended
the outer and inner bank of the trench. There was
an entrance from the west through the outer stock¬
ade, which communicated by a drawbridge, with a
similar opening in the interior defenses. Some pre¬
cautions had been taken to place those entrances
under the protection of projecting angles, by which
they might be flanked in case of need by archers or
slingers.
Before this entrance the Templar wound1 his horn
loudly; for the rain, which had long threatened, be¬
gan now to descend with great violence.
’Blew. (See dictionary.)
Question : Why was Cedric impatient over the absence
of Gurth and Wamba?
CHAPTER III
Then (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hears
The tierman Ocean roar, deep-booming, strong,
And yellow-hair'd. the blue-eyed Saxon came.
Thomson’s Liberty.
In a hall, the height of which was greatly dispro-
portioned to its extreme length and width, a long
oaken table, formed of planks rough-hewn from the
forest, and which had scarcely received any polish,
stood ready prepared for the evening meal of Cedric
the Saxon. The roof, composed of beams and raf¬
ters, had nothing to divide the apartment from the
sky excepting the planking and thatch; there was a
huge fireplace at either end of the hall, but, as the
chimneys were constructed in a very clumsy man¬
ner, at least as much of the smoke found its way
into the apartment as escaped by the proper vent.
The constant vapor which this occasioned, had pol¬
ished the rafters and beams of the low-browed hall,
by incrusting them with a black varnish of soot. On
the side 3 of the apartment hung implements of war
and of the chase, and there were at each corner
folding doors, which gave access to other parts of
the extensive building.
The other appointments of the mansion partook of
the rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which Ced¬
ric piqued himself upon maintaining. The floor was
composed of earth mixed with lime, trodden into a
hard substance, such as is often employed in flooring
our modern barns. For about one quarter of the
length of the apartment, the floor was raised by a
step, and this space, which was called the dais, was
occupied only by the principal members of the fam¬
ily, and visitors of distinction. For this purpose,
a table richly covered with scarlet cloth was placed
IVANHOE
35
transversely across the platform, from the middle of
which ran the longer and lower board, at which the
domestics and inferior persons fed, down towards
the bottom of the hall. The whole resembled the
form of the letter T, or some of those ancient dinner-
tables, which, arranged on the same principles, may
be still ''seen in the antique Colleges of Oxford or
Cambridge. Massive chairs and .settles of carved
oak were placed upon the dais, and over these seats
and the more elevated table was fastened a canopy
of cloth, which served in some degree to protect the
dignitaries who occupied that distinguished station
from the weather, and especially from the rain,
which in some places found its way through the ill-
constructed roof.
The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as
the dais extended, were covered with hangings or
curtains, and upon the ffoor there was a carpet, both
of which were adorned with some attempts at tapes¬
try, or embroidery, executed with brilliant or rather
gaudy coloring. 0(ver the lower range of table, the
roof, as we have noticed, had no covering ; the rough
plastered walls were left bare, and the rude earthen
floor was uncarpeted ; the board was uncovered by a
cloth, and rude massive benches supplied the place
of chairs.
In the center of the upper table were placed two
chairs more elevated than the rest, for the master
and mistress of the family, who presided over the
scene of hospitality, and from doing so derived their
Saxon title of honor, which signifies “the Dividers
of Bread/’1
To each of these chairs was added a footstool,
curiously carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark
of distinction was neculiar to them. One of these
’Lord and Lady.
36
I VAN HOE
seats was at present occupied by Cedric the Saxon,
who, though but in rank a thane, or as the Normans
called him, a Franklin, felt, at the delay of his even*
ing meal, an irrita'ble impatience, which might have
become an alderman whether of ancient or modern
times.
It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this
proprietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty and
choleric temper. He was not above the middle stat¬
ure, but broad-shouldered, long-armed, and power¬
fully made, like one accustomed to endure the fatigue
of war or of the chase; his face was broad, with
large blue eyes, open and frank features, fine teeth,
and a well-formed head, altogether expressive of
that sort of good-humor which often lodges with a
sudden and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy
there was in his eye, for his life had been spent in
asserting rights which were constantly liable to in¬
vasion; and the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposi¬
tion of the man, had been kept constantly upon the
alert by the circumstances of his situation. His
long yellow hair was equally divided on the top of
his head and upon his brow, and combed down on
each sicfd to the length of his shoulders; it had but
little tendency to gray, although Cedric was approach¬
ing to his sixtieth year.
His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at
the throat and cuffs with what was called minever;
a kind of fur inferior in quality to ermine, and
formed, it is believed, of the skin of the gray squir¬
rel. This doublet hung unbuttoned over a close
dress of scarlet which sate tight to his body ; he had
breeches of the same, but they did not reach below
the lower part of the thigh, leaving the knee ex-
Tn ancient times a military chief; later he became a
ruler of a province.
IVANHOE
37
posed. His feet had sandals of the same fashion
with the peasants, but of finer materials, and se¬
cured in the front with golden clasps. He had brace¬
lets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of the
same precious metal around his neck. About his
waist he wore a richly-studded belt, in which was
stuck a short, straight, two-edged sword, with a
sharp point, so disposed as to hang almost perpen¬
dicularly by his side. Behind his seat was hung a
scarlet cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of the
same materials richly embroidered, which completed
the dress of the opulent landholder when he chose
to go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad and
bright steel head, also reclined against the back
of his chair, which served him, when he walked
abroad, for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as
chance might require.
Several domestics, whose dress held various pro¬
portions betwixt the richness of their master’s, and
the coarse and simple attire of Gurth the swineherd,
watched the looks and waited the commands of the
Saxon dignitary. Two or three servants of a super¬
ior order stood behind their master upon the dais;
the re«t occupied the lower part of the hall. Other
attendants there were of a different description ;
two or three large and 'shaggy greyhounds, such as
were then employed in hunting the stag and wolf;
as many slowhounds of a large bony breed, with
thick necks, large heads, and long ears; and one or
two of the smaller dogs, now called terriers, which
waited with impatience the arrival of the supper:
but, with the sagacious knowledge of physiognomy
peculiar to their race, forebore to intrude upon the
moody silence of their master, apprehensive probab¬
ly of a small white truncheon which lay by Cedric’s
trencher, for the purpose of repelling the advances
Ivan hoe
38
of his four-legged dependents. One grisly old wolf-
dog alone, witli the liberty of an indulged favorite,
had planted himself close by the chair of state, and
occasionally ventured to solicit notice by putting his
large, hairy head upon his master’s knee, or pushing
his nose into his hand. Even he was repelled by the
stern command “Down, Balder, down! I am not m
the humor for foolery.”
In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no
very placid state of mind. The lady Rowena, who
had been absent to attend an evening mass at a
distant church, had but just returned, and was
changing her garments, which had been wetted by
the storm. There were as yet no tidings of Gurth
and his charge, which should long since have been
driven home from the forest; and such was the in¬
security of the period, as to render it probable that
the delay might be explained by some depredation
of the outlaws, with whom the adjacent forest
abounded, or by the violence of some neighboring
baron, whose consciousness of strength made him
equally negligent of the laws of property. The mat¬
ter was of consequence, for great part of the domes¬
tic wealth of the Saxon proprietors consijted in
numerous herds of swine, especially in forest land,
where those animals easily found their food.
Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane
was impatient for the presence of his favorite clown
Wamba, whose jests, such as they were, served for
a sort of seasoning to his evening meal, and to the
deep draughts of ale and wine with which he was
in the habit of accompanying it. Add to all this,
Cedric had fasted since noon, and his usual supper
hour was long past, a cause of irritation common to
country squires, both in ancient and modern times.
His displeasure was expressed in broken sentences,
Ivan hoe
39
1 partly muttered to himself, partly addressed to the
I domestics who stood around; and particularly to his
cup-bearer, who offered him from time to time, as a
| sedative, a silver goblet filled with wine — “Why
fj tarries the Lady Rowena?”
“She is but changing her head-gear,” replied a
I female attendant, with as much confidence as the
favorite lady's maid usually answers the master of
a modern family; “you would not wish her to sit
down to the banquet in her hood and kirtle? and no
lady within the shire can be quicker in arraying her¬
self than my mistress.”
This undeniable argument produced a sort of ac¬
quiescent umph! on the part of the Saxon, with the
addition, “I wish her devotion may choose fair
weather for the next visit to St. John’s Kirk; — but
what, in the name of ten devils,” continued he, turn¬
ing to the cup-bearer, and raising his voice, as if
happy to have found a channel into which he might
divert his indignation without fear or control —
“what, in the name of ten devils, keeps Gurth so
long a-field? I suppose we shall have evil account
I of the herd; he was wont to be a faithful and cau¬
tious drudge, and I had destined him for something
; better; perchance I might even have made him one
| of my warders.”1
Oswald the cup-bearer modestly suggested, “that
it was scarce an hour 'since the tolling of the cur-
i few;”1 an ill-chosen apology, since it turned upon a
i topic so harsh to Saxon ears.
“The foul fiend,” exlclaimed Cedric, ‘Itake the
curfew-bell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom it
was devised, and the heartless slave who names it
; '‘The curfew was established by William the Conqueror
as a means of safety and as a means of controlling the
Saxons. All fires were to be covered and all lights out
at that time.
40
IVANHOE
with a Saxon tongue to a Saxon ear! The curfew!”
he added, pausing, “ay, the curfew; which compels
true men to extinguish their lights, that thieves and
robbers may work their deeds in darkness! — Ay, the
curfew; — Reginald Front-de-Bceuf and Philip de
Malvoisin know the use of the curfew as well as
William the Bastard himself, or e'er a Norman ad¬
venturer that fought at Hastings. I shall hear, I
guess, that my property has been swept off to save
from starving the hungry banditti, whom they can¬
not support but by theft and robbery. My faithful
slave is murdered, and my goods are taken for a
prey — and Wamba — where is Wamba? Said not
some one he had gone forth with Gurth?”
Oswald replied in the affirmative.
“Ay? why this is better and better! he is carried
off too, the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord.
Fools are we all indeed that serve them, and fitter
subjects for their 'scorn and laughter, than if we
were born with but half our wits. But I will be
avenged,” he added, starting from his chair in im¬
patience at the supposed injury, and catching hold
of his Boar-spear; “I will go with my complaint to
the great council;1 I have friends, I have followers
—man to man will I appeal the Norman to the lists;
let him come in his plate and his mail, and all that
can render cowardice bold; I have sent such a jave¬
lin as this through a stronger fence than three of
their war shields !— Haply they think me old; but
they shall find, alone and childless as I am, the
blood of Hereward is in the veins of Cedric.- -Ah,
Wilfred, Wilfred!” he exclaimed in a lower tone,
“couldst thou have ruled thine unreasonable pas¬
sion, thy father had not been left in his age like the
■solitary oak, that throws out its shattered and un-
sThe council of State composed of advisers of the king.
IVANHOE
41
protected branches against the full sweep of the
tempest!” The reflection seemed to conjure into
sadness his irritated feelings. Replacing his jave¬
lin, he resumed his seat, bent his looks downward,
and appeared to be absorbed in melancholy reflec¬
tion.
From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened
by the blast of a horn, which was replied to by the
clamorous yells and barking of all the dogs in the
hall, and some twenty or thirty which were quar¬
tered in other part of the building. It cost some ex¬
ercise of the white truncheon, well seconded by the
exertions of the domestics, to silence this canine
clamor.
“To the gate, knaves!” said the Saxon, hastily,
as soon as the tumult was so much appeased that
the dependents could hear his voice. “See what ti¬
dings that horn tells us of — to announce, I ween,
some hership and robbery which has been done upon
my lands.”
Returning in less than three minutes, a warder
announced, “that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx. and
the good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander
of the valiant and venerable order of Knights Tern
plans, with a small retinue, requested hospitality
and lodging for the night, being on their way to a
tournament which was to be held not far from
Ashby-de-la-Zouche, on the second day from the
present.”
“Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guil¬
bert?” — muttered Cedric; “Normans both; — but
Norman or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood
must not be impeached; they are welcome, since
they have chosen to halt — more welcome would they
have been to have ridden further on their way. — •
But it were unworthy to murmur for a night’s lodg-
42
IVANHOE
ing and a night’s food; in the quality of guests, at
least, even Normans must suppress their insolence.
— Go, Hundebert,” he added, to a sort of major-
domo who stood behind him with a white wand;
"take six of the attendants, and introduce the
strangers to the guests’ lodging. Look after their
horses and mules, and see their train lack nothing. ,
Let them have change of vestments if they require
it, and fire, and water to wash, and wine and ale; ,
and bid the cooks add what they hastily can to our
evening meal; and let it be put on the board when
those strangers are ready to share it. Say to them,
Hundebert,. that Cedric, would himself <b(id them
welcome, but he is under a vow never to step more
than three steps from the dais of his own hall to
meet any who shares not the blood of Saxon royalty.
Begone! see them carefully tended; let them not
say in their pride, the Saxon churl has shown at
once his poverty and his avarice.”
The major-domo departed with several attendants,
to execute his master’s commands. “The Prior Ay-
mer!” repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald, “the
brother, if I mistake not, of Giles de Mauleverer,
now lord of Middleham?”
Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. “His
brother sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony,
of a better race, the race of Ulfgar of Middleham;
but what Norman lord doth not the same? This
Prior is, they say, a free and jovial priest, who
loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn be'tter than
bell and book.1 Good ; let him come, he shall be wel¬
come. How named ye the Templar?”
“Brian de Bois-Guilbert.”
“Bois-Guilbert,” said Cedric, still in the musing,
xSuggestive of the monastery and certainly more becom¬
ing to the monastic life than wine-cup.
IVANHOE
43
lalf -arguing tone, which the habit of living among
dependents had accustomed him to employ, and
than to those around him — “Bois-Guilbert? That
name has been spread wide both for good and evil.
They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order;
but stained with their usual vices — pride, arrogance,
cruelty, and voluptuousness; a hard-hearted man,
who knows neither fear of earth, nor awe of heaven.
So say the few warriors who have returned from
Palestine. — Well, it is but for one night; he shall be
welcome too. — Oswald, broach the oldest wine-cask;
place the best mead, the mightiest ale, the richest
morat, the most sparkling cider, the most odorifer¬
ous pigments, upon the board; fill the largest horns
— Templars and Abbots love good wines and good
measure. — Elgitha, let thy Lady Rowena know we
shall not this night expect her in the hall, unless
such be her especial pleasure.”
“But it will be her especial pleasure,” answered
Elgitha, with great readiness, “for she is ever de¬
sirous to hear the latest news from Palestine.”
Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of
hasty resentment; but Rowena, and whatever be¬
longed to her, were privileged and secure from his
anger. He only replied, “Silence, maiden; thy
tongue outruns thy discretion. Say my message to
thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here, at
least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns a prin¬
cess.” Elgitha left the apartment.
“Palestine!” repeated the Saxon; “Palestine!
how many ears are turned to the tales which disso¬
lute crusaders, or hypocritical pilgrims, bring from
that fatal land! I too might ask — I too might in¬
quire — I too might listen with a beating heart to
faoles which the wily strollers devise to cheat us
into hospitality — but no, — the son who has dis-
44
Ivan hoe
obeyed me is no longer mine; nor will I concen
myself more for his fate than for that of the mos
worthless among the millions that ever shaped th>
cross on their shoulder rushed into excess an<
blood-guiltiness, and called it an accomplishment o:
the will of God.”
He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an in
stant on the ground; as he raised them, the folding
doors at the bottom of the hall were cast wide, and
preceded by the major-domo with his wand, and fou:
domestics bearing blazing torches, the guests of th<
evening entered the apartment.
Question: Why was Rowena interested in Palestine?
Question : The absent son of Cedric serves as the con¬
necting link between what two classes of people and be¬
tween what elements in our story?
CHAPTER IV
With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled.
And the proud steer was on the marble spread ;
With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round,
Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d.
* * *
Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat ;
A trivet table and ignobler seat,
The Prince assigns- -
Odyssey , Book 21.
The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity af¬
forded him, of changing his riding robe for one of
pet more costly materials, over which he wore a
sope1 2 curiously embroidered. Besides the massive
golden signet ring, which marked his ecclesiastical
dignity, his fingers, though contrary to the canon,"
were loaded with precious gems; his sandals were
of the finest leather which was imported from
Spain; his beard trimmed to as small dimensions as
his order would possibly permit, and his shaven
crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered.
The appearance of the Knight Templar was also
changed ; and, though less studiously bedecked with
ornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearance
far more commanding, than that of his companion.
He had exchanged his shirt of mail for an under
tunic of dark purple silk, garnished with furs, over
which flowed his long robe of spotless white, in am¬
ple folds. The eight-pointed cross3 of his order was
cut on the shoulder of his mantle in black velvet.
aAn ecclesiatical cloak, which was more suitable for a
procession than a dinner party.
2Rules for the government of a religious order.
3The emblem of the Knight Templars. The Maltese cross
of red had eight points.
46
Ivan hob
The high cap no longer invested his brows, whicif)
were only shaded by short and thick curled hair of a
raven blackness, corresponding to his unusually
swart complexion. Nothing could be more grace¬
fully majestic than his step and manner, had they
not been marked by a .predominant air of haughti¬
ness, easily acquired by the exercise of unresisted
authority.
These two dignified persons were followed by
their respective attendants, and at a more humble
distance by their guide, whose figure had nothing
more remarkable than it derived from| the usual
weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak or mantle of coarse
'black serge enveloped his whole body. It was in
shape something like the cloak of a modern hussar,
having similar flaps for covering the arms, and was
called a Sclaveyn, or Sclavonian. Coarse sandals,
bound with thongs, on his bare feet; a broad and
shadowy hat, with cockle-shells1 stitched on its brim,
and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper end
of which was attached a branch of palm, completed
the Palmer's attire. He followed modestly the last
of the train which entered the hall, and, observing
that the lower table scarce afforded room sufficient
for the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of his
guests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside and al¬
most under one of the large chimneys, and seemec
to employ himself in drying his garments, until th€
retreat of some one should make room at the board
or the hospitality of the steward should supply hin
with refreshments in the place he had chosen apart
Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air ol
dignified hospitality, and, descending from the dais
*An emblem worn by Pilgrims from Palestine just af
the palm branch was.
IVANHOE
47
or elevated part of his hall, made three steps
;owards~rriem, and then awaited their approach.
, “I grieve,” he said, “reverend Prior, that my vow
, jbinds me to advance no farther upon this floor of
jjmy fathers, even to receive such guests as you, and
this valiant Knight of the Holy Temple. But my
^steward has expounded to you the cause of my seem¬
ing discourtesy. Let me also pray, that you will ex-
y|cuse my speaking to you in my native language, and
that you will reply in the same if your knowledge
of it permits; if not, I sufficiently understand Nor-
iman to follow your meaning.”
“Vows,” said the Abbot, “must be unloosed,
5 worthy Franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthy
r 'Thane, though the title is antiquated. Vows are the
l? knots which tie us to Heaven — they are the cords
j which bind the sacrifice to the horns of the altar,1 —
djand are therefore, — as I said before, — to be un-
B loosened and discharged, unless our holy Mother
(j! Church shall pronounce the contrary. And respect¬
ing language, I willingly hold communication in that
,1 1 spoken by my respected grandmother, Hilda of Mid-
I dleham, who died in odor of sanctity, little short,
,1 if we may presume to say so, of her glorious name¬
sake, the blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby,2 God be
]! gracious to her soul!”
1(j When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a
ie conciliatory harangue, his companion said briefly
j and emphatically, “I speak ever French, the lan-
jj guage of King Richard and his nobles ; but I under-
1 lrrhe projection at the four corners of the Jewish altar,
if See I Kings II, 28, and I Kings I, 50.
$, 2 A famous Abbess of the convent at Whitby on the coast
' of Yorkshire.
| Question: How does the Prior show himself to be es-
l! pecially diplomatic?
48
Ivan hoe
stand English sufficiently to communicate with the
natives of the country.”
Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty
and impatient glances, which comparisons between
the two rival nations seldom failed to call forth,
but, recollecting the duties of hospitality, he sup¬
pressed further show of resentment, and, motioning
witli his hand, caused his guests to assume two
seats a little lower than his own, but placed close
beside him, and gave a signal that the evening meal
should be placed upon the board.
While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s
commands, his eye distinguished Gurth the swine¬
herd, who, with his companion Wamba, had just
entered the hall. “Send these loitering knaves up
hither,” said the Saxon, impatiently. And when the 1
culprits came before the dais, — “How comes it, vil- 1
lains! that you have loitered abroad so late as this!
Hast thou brought home thy charge, sirrah Gurth,
or hast thou left them to robbers and marauders?”
“The herd is safe, so please ye,” said Gurth.
“But it does not please me, thou knave,” said
Cedric, “that I should be made to suppose other¬
wise for two hours, and sit here devising vengeance
against my neighbors for wrongs they have not done
me. I tell thee, shackles and the prison-house shall
punish the next offense of this kind.”
Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, at¬
tempted no exculpation; but the Jester, who could
presume upon Cedric’s tolerance, by virtue of his
privileges as a fool, replied for them both, “In troth,
uncle1 Cedric, you are neither wise nor reasonable
to-night.”
“How, sir?” said his master; “you shall to the
*A title used by jesters in place of “master,” in reality
to express mock familiarity with their masters.
IVANHOE
49
porter’s lodge, and taste of the discipline there, if
you give your foolery such license.”
“First let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba,
“is it just and reasonable to punish one person for
the fault of another?”
“Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric.
“Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle,
for the fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be sworn
we lost not a minute by the way, when we had got
our herd together, which Fangs did not manage un¬
til we heard the vesper-bell.”
“Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hast¬
ily towards the swineherd, “if the fault is his, and
get thee another dog.”
“Under favor, uncle,” said the Jester, “that were
still somewhat on the bow-hand1 of fair justice;
for it was no fault of Fangs that he was lame and
could not gather the herd, but the fault of those that
struck off two of his foreclaws, an operation for
which, if the poor fellow had been consulted, he
would scarce have given his voice.”
“And who dared to lame an animal which be¬
longed to my bondsman?” said the Saxon, kindling
in wrath.
“Marry, that did old Hubert,” said Wamba, “Sir
Philip de Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He
caught Fangs strolling in the forest, and said he
chased the deer contrary to his master’s right, as
warden of the walk.”2
“The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the
Saxon, “and his keeper both! I will teach them
that the wood was disforested in terms of the great
Forest Charter. But enough of this. Go to, knave,
go to thy place — and thou, Gurth, get thee another
a“Left hand,” on the wrong side ; unjust.
Guardian of the range.
50
Ivan hoe
dog, and should the keeper dare to touch it, i
mar his archery; the curse of a coward on my heau,
if I strike not off the forefinger of his right hand ! —
He shall draw bowstring no more. — I crave your par¬
don, my worthy guests. I am beset here with neigh¬
bors that match your infidels, Sir Knight, in Holy
Land. But your homely fare is before you; feed,
and let welcome make amends for hard fare.”
The feast, however, which was spread upon the
board, needed no apologies from the lord of the man¬
sion. Swine’s flesh, dressed in several modes, ap¬
peared on the lower part of the board, as also that
of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, and various kinds
of fish, together with huge loaves and cakes of
breaS, and sundry confections made of fruits and
honey. The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of which
there was abundance, were not served up in platters,
but brought in upon small wooden spits or broaches,
and offered by the pages and domestics who bore
them, to each guest in succession, who cut from
them such a portion as he pleased. Beside each per¬
son of rank was placed a goblet of silver; the lower
board was accommodated with Targe drinking horns.
When the repast was about to commence, the
major-domo, or steward, suddenly raking his wand,
said aloud, — “Forbear! — Place for the Lady Row-
ena.” A side-door at the upper end of the hall now
opened behind the banquet table, and Rowena, fol¬
lowed by four female attendants, entered the apart¬
ment. Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps not
altogether agreeably so, at his ward appearing in
public on this occasion, hastened to meet her, and
to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to the ele¬
vated seat at his own right hand, appropriated to
the lady of the mansion. All stood up to receive
her; and, replying to their courtesy by a mute ges-
IVANHOE
51
|ture of salutation, she moved gracefully forward to
assume her place at the board. Ere she had time
to do so, the Templar whispered to the Prior, “1
shall wear no collar of gold of yours at the tourna¬
ment. The Chian wine is your own.”
“Said I not so?” answered the Prior; “but check
your raptures, the Franklin observes you.”
i Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only
to act upon the immediate impulse of his own
* wishes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes riveted
on the Saxon beauty, more striking perhaps to his
c imagination, because differing widely from those
iof the Eastern sultanas.
Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Row-
jcna was tall in stature, yet not. so much so as to
* attract observation on account of superior height.
|Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble
feast of her head and features prevented the insipid¬
ity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her
clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a
graceful eyebrow of brown sufficiently marked to
give expression to the forehead, seemed capable to
kindle as well as melt, to command as well as to be-
* seech. If mildness were the more natural expres¬
sion of uch a combination of features, it was plain,
| that in the present instance, the exercise of habitual
superiority, and the reception of general homage,
had given to the Saxon lady a loftier character,
which mingled with and qualified that bestowed by
nature. Her profuse hair, of a color betwixt brown
and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and graceful
j manner in numerous ringlets to form which art had
probably aicTed nature. These locks were braided
with gems, and being worn at full length, intimated
Question : What does the Templar mean by the words
lie whispered to the Prior?
52
IVANIIOE
the noble birth and free-born condition of the maid¬
en. A golden chain, to which was attached a small
reliquary of the same metal, hung round her neck,
She wore bracelets on her arms, which were bare,
Her dress was an under-gown and kirtle of pale sea-
green silk, over which hung a long loose robe, which
reached to the ground, having very wide sleeves,
which came down, however, very little below the el¬
bow. This robe was crimson, and manufactured out
of the very ffinest wool. A veil of silk, interwoven
with gold, was attached to the upper part of it,
which could be, at the wearer’s pleasure, either
drawn over the face and bosom after the Spanish
fashion, or disposed as a sort of drapery round the
shoulders.
When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s
eyes bent on her with an ardor, that, compared with
the dark caverns under which they moved, gave
them the effect of lighted charcoal, she drew with
dignity the veil around her face, as an intimation
that the determined freedom of his glance was dis¬
agreeable. Cedric -saw the motion and its cause.
Sir Templar,” said he, “the cheeks of our Saxon
maidens have seen too little of the sun to enable
them to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.”
“If I have offended, ” replied Sir Brian, “I crave
your pardon that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’s
pardon for my humility will carry me no lower.”
“The Lady Rowena,” said the Prior, “has pun¬
ished us all, in chastising the boldness of my friend.
Let me hope she will be less cruel to the splendid
train which are to meet at the tournament.”
“Our going thither,” said Cedric, "is uncertain.
I love not these vanities, which were unknown to
my fathers when England was free.”
“Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, “our
IVANHOE
58
company may determine you to travel thitherward;
when the roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir
Brian de Bois-Guilbert is not to be despised.”
“Sir Prior,” answered the Saxion, “wheresoever
I have traveled in this land, I have hitherto found
myself, with the assistance of my good sword and
faithful followers, in no respect needful of other
aid. At present, if we indeed journey to Ashby-de-
la-Zouche, we do so with my noble neighbor and
countryman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh,1 and with
such a train as would set outlaws and feudal ene¬
mies at defiance. — I drink to you, Sir Prior, in this
cup of wine, which I trust your taste will approve,
and I thank you for your courtesy. Should you be
so rigid in adhering to monastic rule,” he added, “as
to prefer your acid preparation of milk, I hope you
will not strain courtesy to do me reason.”
“Nay,” said the Priest, -laughing, “it is only in
our abbey that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce 2
or the lac acidum either. Conversing with the world,
we use the world’s fashion, and therefore I answer
your pledge in this honest wine, and leave the weak¬
er liquor' to my lay-brother.”
^Ahd I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet,
“drink wassail3 to the fair Rowena; for since her
namesake4 introduced the word into England, has
never been one more worthy of such a tribute. By
my faith, I could pardon the unhappy Vortigern, had
he half the cause that we now witness, for making
shipwreck of his honor and his kingdom.”
*A castle in Yorkshire.
2Sweet milk, sour milk.
3 (See Century dictionary). From Wes, be and liael, whole.
The Templar drinks to the health of Rowena.
4Rowena was the name of the daughter of a Saxon in¬
vader, Hengist. She married Vortigern, a British king.
54
Ivan hoe
“I will spare your courtesy, Sir Knight,” said
Rowena with dignity, and without unveiling herself ;
“or rather I will tax it so far as to require of you
the latest news from Palestine, a theme more agree¬
able to our English ears, than the compliments
which your French breeding teaches.”
“I have little of importance to say, lady,” an¬
swered Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “excepting the
confirmed tidings of a truce with Saladin.”1
Ife was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his
appropriated seat upon a chair, the back of which
was decorated with two ass’s ears, and which was
placed about two steps behind that of his master,
who, from time to time, supplied him with victuals
from his own trencher; a favor, however, which the
Jester shared with the favorite dogs, of whom, as
we have already noticed, there were several in at¬
tendance. Here <sat Wamba, with a small table
before him, his heels tucked up against the bar of
the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as to make his
jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and his eyes
half-shut, yet watching with alertness every oppor¬
tunity to exercise his licensed foolery.
“These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed,
without, caring how suddenly he interrupted the
stately Templar, “make an old man of me!”
“Go to, knace, how so?” said Cedric, his fea¬
tures prepared to receive favorably the expected jest.
“Because,” answered Wamba, “I remember three
of them in my day, each of which was to endure for
the course of fifty years; so that, by computation, I
must be at least a hundred and fifty years old.”
“I will warrant you against dying of old age, how¬
ever,” said the Templar, who now recognized his
1 Famous sultan of Egypt and Spain who fought the cru¬
saders successfully ma»y yeari.
IVANHOE
55
friend of the forest; “I will assure you from all
' deaths but a violent one, if you give such directions
: to wayfarers, as you did this night to the Prior and
j me.”
“How, sirrah?” said Cedric, “misdirect travelers?
We must have you whipt; you are at least as much
rogue as fool.”
“I pray thee, uncle,” answered the Jester, “let
my folly for once protect my roguery. I did but
make a mistake between my right hand and my left,
and he might have pardoned a greater, who took a
fool for his counselor and guide.”
Conversation was here interrupted by the en¬
trance of the porter’s page, who announced that
there was a stranger at the gate, imploring admit¬
tance and hospitality.
“Admit him,” said Cedric, “be he who or what
he may; — a night like that which roars without,
compels even wild animals to herd with tame, and to
seek the protection of man. their mortal foe, rather
than perish by the elements. Let his wants be minis¬
tered to with all care. — Look to it Oswald.”
And the steward left the banqueting hall to see
the commands of his patron obeyed.
Question: Did the Templar suspect that Wamba gave
him the wrong directions on purpose-?.-..-* . •• —vV
CHAPTER V
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, di¬
mensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same
food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same dis¬
eases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the
same winter and summer, as a Christian is?
Merchant of Venice.
Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his
master, “It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of
York; is it fit I should marshal him into the hall?"
“Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald," said Wamba,
with his usual effrontery; “the swineherd will be a
fit usher to the Jew."
“St. Mary," said the Abbot, crossing himself, “an
unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence!"
“A dog Jew," echoed the Templar, “to approach
8 defender of the Holy Sepulcher?"
“By my faith,” said Wamba, “it would seem the
Templars love the Jews' inheritance better than they
do their company.”
“Peace, my worthy guests," said Cedric; “my
hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes. If
Heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked
unbelievers for more years than a layman can num¬
ber, we may endure the presence of one Jew for a
few hours. But I constrain no man to converse or to
feed with him. — Let him have a board and a morsel
apart, — unless," he said, smiling, “these turban’d
strangers will admit his society."
“Sir Franklin,” answered the Templar, “my
Saracen slaves are true Moslems,1 and scorn as much
as any Christian to hold intercourse with a Jew."
‘tNow, in faith," said Wamba, “I cannot see that
followers of Mohammedans.
IVANHOE
57
the worshipers of Mahound and Termagaunt1 have
so greatly the advantage over the people once
chosen of Heaven.”
“He shall sit with thee, Wamba,” said Cedric;
“the fool and the knave will be well met.”
“The fool,” answered Wamba, raising the relics
of a gammon of bacon, “will take care to erect a
bulwark against the knave.”
“Hush,” said Cedric, “for here he comes.”
Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing
with fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep
humility, a tall, thin old man, who, however, had lost
by the habit of stooping much of his actual height,
approached the lower end of the board. His fea¬
tures, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose, and
piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkled forehead,
and long gray hair and beard, would have been con¬
sidered as handsome, had they not be'eh the marks of
a physiognomy peculiar to a race, which, during
those dark ages, was alike detested by the credulous
and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by the greedy
and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps owing to
that very hatred and persecution, had adopted a na¬
tional character, in which there was much, to say
the least, mean and unamiable.
The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered
considerably from the storm, was a plain russet
cloak of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic.
He had large boots lined with fur, and a belt around
his waist, which sustained a small knife, together
with a case for writing materials, but no weapons.
He wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiar
fashion, assigned to his nation to distinguish them
‘Supposed' to have been a god worshipped by the Moham¬
medans.
58
[VANHOC
from Christians, and which he doffed with great
humility at the door of the hall.
The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric
the Saxon, was such as might have satisfied the most
prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel. Cedric
himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew’s repeat¬
ed salutations, and signed to him to take place at
the lower end of the table, where, however, no one
offered to make room for him. On the contrary, as
he passed along the file, casting a timid supplicating
glance, and turning towards each of those who oc- j
cupied the lower end of the board, the Saxon domes¬
tics squared their shoulders, and continued to de¬
vour their supper with great perseverance, paying
not the least attention to the wants of the new
guest. The attendants of the Abbot crossed them¬
selves, with looks of pious horror, and the very
heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near them, curled
up their whiskers with indignation, and laid their
hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid them¬
selves by the most desperate means from the ap¬
prehended contamination of his nearer approach.
Probably the same motives which induced Cedric
to open his hall to this son of a rejected people,
would have made him insist on his attendants re¬
ceiving Isaac with more courtesy. But the Abbot
had, at this moment, engaged him in a most inter¬
esting discussion on the breed and character of his
favorite hounds, which he would not have inter¬
rupted for matters of much greater importance than
that of a Jew going to bed supperless. While Isaac
thus stood an outcast in the present society, like his
people among the nations, looking in vain for wel¬
come or resting place, the Pilgrim who sat by the
Question : Why did Isaac wear a cap different from
that of anyone else?
IVANHOE
59
chimney took compassion upon him, and resigned
his seat, saying briefly, “Old man, my garments are
| dried, my hunger is appeased; thou art both wet
and fasting.” So saying, he gathered together, and
brought to a flame, the decaying brands which lay
scattered on the ample hearth ; took from the larger
board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it
upon the small table at which he had himself
supped, and, without waiting the Jew’s thanks, went
to the other side of the hall ; whether from unwill¬
ingness to hold more close communication with the
object of his benevolence, or from a wish to draw
near to the upper end of the table, seemed uncertain.
Had there been painters in those days capable to
execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his
| withered form, and expanded his chilled and trem¬
bling hands over the fire, would have formed no bad
emblematical personification of the Winter season.
Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly to the
smoking mess which was placed before him, and ate
with a haste and an apparent relish, that seemed to
betoken long abstinence from food.
Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their
discourse upon hunting; the Lady Rowena seemed
engaged in conversation with one of her attendant
females; and the haughty Templar,; whose eyes
seemed to wander from the Jew to the Saxon beauty,
revolved in his mind thoughts which appeared deep¬
ly to interest him.
“I marvel, worthy Cedric,” said the Abbot, as
their discourse proceeded, “that, great as your predi¬
lection is for your own manly language, you do
not receive the Norman-French into your favor, so
far at least as the mystery of wood-craft and hunt¬
ing is concerned. Surely no tongue is so rich in the
various phrases which the field-sports demand, or
60
Ivan hoe
furnishes means to the experienced woodman so
well to express his jovial art.”
“Good Father Aymer,” said the Saxon, “be it
known to you, I care not for those over-sea refine¬
ments, without which I can well enough take my
pleasure in the woods. I can wind my horn, though
I call not the blast either a recheate1 or a morte 2 —
I can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay and
quarter the animal when it is brought down, with¬
out using the new-fangled jargon of curee,3 arbor,4
nombles,5 and all the babble of the fabulous Sir
Tristrem.”
“The French,” said the Templar, raising his voice
with the presumptuous and authoritative tone which
he used upon all occasions, “is not only the natural
language of the chase,6 but that of love and of
war, in which ladies should be won and enemies
defied.”
“Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,” said
Cedric, “and fill another to the Abbot, while I look
"Recall.
2Call at the death of a stag.
3Portion given the dogs.
4The vitals.
5Entrails.
6“There was no language which the Normans more for¬
mally separated from that of common life than the terms
of the chase. The objects of their pursuit, whether bird
or animal, changed their names each year, and there were
a hundred conventional terms, to be ignorant of which
was to be without one of the distinguishing marks of a
gentleman. The reader may consult Dame Juliana Ber¬
ner’s book on the subject. The origin of this science was
imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristam, famous for his
tragic intrigue with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans
reserved the amusement of hunting strictly to themselves,
the terms of this formal jargon were all taken from the
French language.” (Scott’s Note.)
IVANHOE
61
back some thirty years to tell you another tale. As
Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain English tale
needed no garnish from French troubadours, when
it was told in the -ear of beauty; and the field of
Northallerton,1 upon the day of the Holy Standard,
could tell whether the Saxon war-cry was not heard
as far within the ranks of the Scottish host as the
cri de guerre 2 of the boldest Norman baron. To the
memory of the brave who fought there! — Pledge
me, my guests.” He drank deep, and went on with
increasing warmth. “Ay, that was a day of cleav¬
ing of shields, when a hundred banners were bent
forward over the heads of the valiant, and blood
flowed round like water, and death was held better
than flight. A Saxon bard had called it a feast of
the swords — a gathering of the eagles to the prey —
the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet, the
shouting of battle more joyful than the clamor of a
bridal. But our bards are no more,” he said; “our
deeds are lost in those of another race, — our lan¬
guage — our very name — is hastening to decay, and
none mourns for it save one solitary old man. — Cup¬
bearer! knave, fill the goblets — To the strong in
arms, Sir Templar, be their race or language what
it will, who now bear them best in Palestine among
the champions of the Cross!”
“It becomes not one wearing this badge to an¬
swer,” said Sir Brian de !Bois-Guilbert ; “yet to
whom, besides the sworn Champions of the Holy
Sepulcher, can the palm be assigned among the
champions of the Cross.”
^own twenty miles north of York where famous Battle
of Standard was fought. The English barons defeated
Scotch invaders.
2War-cry.
62
Ivan hoe
“To the Knights Hospitallers,”1 said the Abbot;
“I have a brother of their order.”
“I impeach not their fame,” said the Templar;
“nevertheless - ”
“I think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfer¬
ing, “that had Richard of the Lion’s Heart been
wise enough to have taken a fool’s advice, he might
have staid at home with his merry Englishmen, and
left the recovery of Jerusalem to those same knights
who had most to do with the loss of it.”
“Were there, then, none in the English army,”
said the Lady Rowena, “whose names are worthy to
be mentioned with the Knights of the Temple, and
of St. John?”
“Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert ;
“the English monarch did, indeed, bring to Pales¬
tine a host of gallant warriors, second only to those
whose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark of
that blessed land.”
“Second to NONE,” said the Pilgrim, who ,ha^
stood near enough to hear, and had listened to this
conversation with marked impatience. All turned
towards the spot from whence this unexpected as¬
severation was heard. “I say,” repeated the Pilgrim
in a firm and strong voice, “that the English chiv¬
alry were second to none who ever drew sword in
defense of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I saw
it, that King Richard himself, and five of his knights,
held a tournament after the taking of St. John-de-
Acre,2 as challengers against all comers. I say that,
on that day, each knight ran three courses, and cast
to the ground three antagonists. I add, that seven
’Body of military monks, first formed among monks of
Hospital of St. John at Jerusalem.
2Acre, sea port in Palestine which Richard helped to cap¬
ture.
IVANHOE
63
of these assailants were Knights of the Temple —
and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well knows the truth
of what I tell you.”
It is impossible for language to describe the bitter
j scowl of rage which rendered yet darker the
jswarthy countenance of the Templar. In the ex¬
tremity of his resentment and confusion, his quiver¬
ing fingers griped towards the handle of his sword,
and perhaps only withdrew, from the consciousness
that no act of violence could be safely executed in
that place and presence. Cedric, whose feelings
were all of a right onward and simple kind, and were
seldom occupied by more than one object at once,
omitted, in the joyous glee with which he heard of
the glory of his countrymen, to remark the angry
I confusion of his guest. “I would give thee this
golden bracelet, Pilgrim,” he said, “couldst thou
tell me the names of those knights who upheld so
gallantly the renown of merry England.”
“That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim,
.“and without guerdon; my oath, for a time, pro¬
hibits me from touching gold.”
“I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will,
friend Palmer,” said Wamba.
“The first in honor as in arms, in renown as in
place,” said the Pilgram, “was the brave Richard,
King of England.”
“I forgive him,” said Cedric; “I forgive him his
descent from the tyrant Duke William.”1
“The Earl of Leicester was the second,” con¬
tinued the Pilgrim; “Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland
was the third.”
“Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric with
exultation.
William the Conqueror, 1066.
64
IVANHOE
“Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the
Pilgrim.
“Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,” con¬
tinued Cedric, who listened with the utmost eager¬
ness, and forgot, in part at least, his hatred to the
Normans in the common triumph of the King of Eng¬
land and his islanders. “And who was the fifth?”
he demanded.
“The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.”
“Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!”1 shouted
Cedric. “And the sixth?” he continued with eager¬
ness — “how name you the sixth?”
“The sixth,” said the Palmer, after a pause, in
which he seemed to recollect himself, “was a young
knight of lesser renown and lower rank, assumed
into that honorable company, less to aid their en¬
terprise than to make up their number; — his name
dwells not in my memory.”
“Sir Palmer,” said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert
scornfully, “this assumed forgetfulness, after so
much has been remembered, comes too late to serve
your purpose. I will myself tell the name of the
knight before whose lance fortune and my horse’s
fault occasioned my falling — it was the Knight of
Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his
years, had more renown in arms. — Yet this will I
say, and loudly — that were he in England, and durst
repeat, in this week’s tournament, the challenge of
St. John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as I now
am, would give him every advantage in weapons, and
abide the result.”
“Your challenge would be soon answered,” re¬
plied the Palmer, “were your antagonist near you.
As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall with
vaunts of the issue of the conflict, which you well
’One of the first Saxons to invade England.
IVANHOE
65
know cannot take place. If Ivanhoe ever returns
i from Palestine, I will be his surety that he meets
; you.”
“A goodly security!” said the Knight Templar;
j “and what do your proffer as a pledge?”
“This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small
ivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself,
“containing a portion of the true cross, brought
from the Monastery of Mount Carmel.
The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and re¬
peated a paternoster, in which all devoutly joined,
, excepting the Jew, the Mahommedans, and the Tem¬
plar; the latter of whom, without vailing his bonnet,1
or testifying any reverence for the alleged sanctity
of the relic, took from his neck a gold chain, which
he flung on the board, saying — “Let Prior Aymer
! hold my pledge and that of this nameless vagrant, in
token that when the Knight of Ivanhoe comes with¬
in the four seas of Britain, he underlies the chal¬
lenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer
not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls of
every Temple Court2 in Europe.”
“It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, break¬
ing silence; “my voice shall be heard, if no other in
this hall is raised in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I
affirm he will meet fairly every honorable challenge.
Could my weak warrant add security to the inesti¬
mable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I would pledge
name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud knight
the meeting he desires.”
A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have
taking off his cap.
2The Knight Templars had temples or monasteries in
several countries.
Question : Out of this quarrel, what part of. the plot
is Scott advancing?
66
IVANIIOE
occupied Cedric, and kept him silent during this dis¬
cussion. Gratified pride, resentment, embarrass¬
ment, chased each other over his broad and open
brow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over a har¬
vest-field; while his attendants, on whom the name
of the sixth knight seemed to produce an effect al¬
most electrical, hung in suspense upon their mas¬
ter’s looks. But when Rowena spoke, the sound of
her voice seemed to startle him from his silence.
“Lady,” said Cedric, “this beseems not; were fur¬
ther pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and justly
offended, as I am, would yet gage my honor for the
honor of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is com¬
plete, even according to the fantastic fashions of
(N'orman chivalry. — Is it not, Father Aymer?”
“It is,” replied the Prior; “and the blessed relic
and rich chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of
our convent, until the decision of this warlike chal-
lence.”
Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and
again, and after many genuflections and muttered
prayers, he delivered the reliquary to Brother Am¬
brose, his attendant monk, while he himself swept
up with less ceremony, but perhaps with no less
internal sati:faction, the golden chain, and bestowed
it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, which
opened under his arm. “And now, Sir Cedric,” he
said, “my ears are chiming vespers with the
strength of your good wine — permit us another
pledge to the welfare of the Lady Rowena, and in¬
dulge us with liberty to pass to our repose.”
“By the rood of Bromholme,” said the Saxon,
“you do but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior!
Report speaks you a bonny monk, that would hear
Question : What plot of the story is Rowena’s loyal
support of Ivanhoe advancing?
IVANHOE
67
the matin chime ere he quitted his bowl ; and, old as
I am, I feared to have shame in encountering you.
But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in my time,
iwould not so soon have relinquished his goblet/’
The Prior had his own reasons, however, for per¬
severing in the course of temperance which he had
adopted. He was not only a professional peacemak¬
er, but from practice a hater of all feuds and brawls.
It was not altogether from a love to his neighbor,
; or to himself, or from a mixture of both. On the
present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension
iof the fiery temper of the Saxon, and saw the dan¬
ger that the reckless and presumptuous spirit, of
which his companion had already given so many
proofs, might at length produce some disagreeable
explosion.
He therefore gently insinuated the incapacity of
the native of any other country to engage in the
genial conflict of the bowl with the hardy and strong¬
headed Saxons; something he mentioned, but slight¬
ly, about his own holy character, and ended by press¬
ing his proposal to depart to repose.
The grace-cup1 was accordingly served round, and
the guests, after making deep obeisance to their
landlord and to the Lady Rowena, arose and mingled
in the hall, while the heads of the family, by separ¬
ate doors, retired with their attendants.
“Unbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the
Jew, as he passed him in the throng, “dost thou
bend thy course to the tournament?”
“I do so propose,” replied Isaac, bowing in all
humility, “if it pleases your reverend valor.”
“Ay,” said the Knight, “to gnaw the bowels of
our nobles with usury, and to gull women and boys
JThe cup of wine was passed from person to person after
grace was said,
68
IVANIIOE
with guards and toys. — I warrant thee store of shek
els in thy Jewish scrip.”
“Not a shekel,1 not a silver penny, not a halfling-
so held me the God of Abraham!” said the Jew
clasping his hands; “I go but to seek the assistance
of some brethren of my tribe to aid me to pay the
fine which the Exchequer2 of the Jews have imposee
upon me — Father Jacob be my speed. I am an im
poverished wretch — the very gaberdine I wear is bor
rowed from Reuben of Tadeaster.”
The Templar smiled sourly a& he replied, “Be1
shrew thee for a false-hearted liar!” and passing
onward, as if disdaining further conference, he com
muned with his Moslem slaves in a language un!
known to the bystanders. The poor Israelite seemei
so staggered by the address of the military monk
that the Templar had passed on to the extremity o
the hall ere he raised his head from the humbl
posture which he had assumed, so far as to be sen;
sible of his departure. And when he did loo1
around, it was with the astonished air of one a
who^e feet a thunderbolt has just burst, and wh
hears still the astounding report ringing in his ears
The Templar and Prior were shortly after mar
shaled to their sleeping apartments by the stewar
and the cup-bearer, each attended by two tore!
bearers and two servants carrying refreshments
while servants of inferior condition indicated t
their retmue and to the other guests their respectiv
places of repose.
lA Jewish coin which varied in value from sixty cent
(silver) to about five dollars (gold).
2“In those days the Jews were subjected to an Excheque
especially dedicated to that purpose, and wrhich laid the]
under the most exorbitant impositions.” L. T. (Scott
note.)
CHAPTER VI
To buy his favor I extend this friendship :
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ;
And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
Merchant of Venice.
i- As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a
r-orch, passed through the intricate combination of
ipartments of this large and irregular mansion, the
;:up-bearer coming behind him whispered in his ear,
phat if he had no objection to a cup of good mead
i n his apartment, there were many domestics in that
family who would gladly hear the news he had
brought from the Holy Land, and particularly that
vhich concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba
presently appeared to urge the same request, ob¬
serving that a cup after midnight was worth three
pfter curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged
by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them
:or their courtesy, but observed that he had includ¬
ed in his religious vow, an obligation never to speak
n the kitchen on matters which were prohibited in
;he hall. “That vow/’ said Wamba to the cup¬
bearer, “would scarce suit a serving-man.”
i The cup-bearer shrugged up his shoulders in dis¬
pleasure. “I thought to have lodged him in the
solere chamber,” said he; “but since he is so un¬
social to Christians, e’en let him take the next stall
;o Isaac the Jew’s. — Anwold,” said he to the torch-
bearer, “carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell. — I
?ive you good-night,” he added, “Sir Palmer, with
small thanks for short courtesy.”
“Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison!” said the
Palmer, with composure; and his guide moved for¬
ward.
In a small antechamber, into which several doors
70
XV4NH0E
opened, and which was lighted by a small iron lamp,
they met a second interruption from the waiting-
maid of Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority,
that her mistress desired to speak with the Palmer,
took the torch from the hand of Anwold, and, bidding
him await her return, made a sign to the Palmer to
follow. Apparently he did not think it proper to
decline this invitation as he had done the former;
for, though his gesture indicated some suprise at
the summons, he obeyed it mithout answer or remon¬
strance.
A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each
of which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led
him to the apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude
magnificence of which corresponded to the respect
which was paid to her by the lord of the mansion.
The walls were covered with embroidered hangings,
on which different-colored silkfs, interwoven with
gold and silver threads, had been employed with ah
the art of which the age was capable, to represenl
the sports of hunting and hawking. The bed was
adorned with the same rich tapestry, and surroundec
with curtains dyed with purple. The seats had alsc
their stained coverings, and one, which was highei
than the rest, was accommodated with a footstool of
ivory, curiously carved.
No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding
great waxen torches, served to illuminate this apart
ment. Yet let not modern beauty envy the magnif
icence of a Saxon princess. The walls of the apart
ment were so ill finished and so full of crevices, tha
the rich hangings shook to the night blast, and, ii
despite of a sort of screen intended to protect then
from the wind, the flame of the torches streame<
sideways into the air, like the unfurled pennon of j
chieftain. Magnificence there was, with some rud<
IVANHOE
71
attempt at taste ; but of comfort there was little, and,
being unknown, it was unmissed.
The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants
standing at her back, and arranging her hair ere she
lay down to rest, was seated in the sort of throne
already mentioned, and looked as if born to exact
general homage. The Pilgrim/ acknowledged her
claim to it by a low genuflection.
“Rise, Palmer,” said she graciously. “The de¬
fender of the absent has a right to favorable recep¬
tion from all who value truth, and honor manhood.”
She then said to her train, “Retire, excepting only
Eigitha; I would speak with this holy Pilgrim.”
The maidens, without leaving the apartment, re¬
tired to its further extremity, and sat down on a
small bench against the wall, where they remained
mute as statues, though at such a distance that their
whispers could not have interrupted the conversa¬
tion of their mistress.
“Pilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s paus^,
during which she seemed uncertain how to address
him, “you this night mentioned a name--I mean,”
she said, with a degree of effort, “the name of Ivan¬
hoe, in the halls where by nature and kindred it
should have sounded most acceptably; and yet, such
is the perverse course of fate, that of many whose
hearts must have throbbed at the sound, I, only,
dare ask you where, and in what condition, you left
him of whom you spoke. — We heard that, having
remained in Palestine, on account of his impaired
health, after the departure of the English army, he
had experienced the persecution of the French fac¬
tion, to whom the Templars are known to be at¬
tached.”
“I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered
the Palmer, with a troubled voice. I would I knew
72
Ivan hoe
him better, since you, lady, are interested in his fate.
He hath, I believe, surmounted the persecution of his
enemies in Palestine, and is on the eve of returning
to England, where you, lady, must know better than
I, what is his chance of happiness.’'
The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more
particularly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be
expected in his native country, and whether he would
not be exposed to great dangers by the road. On the
first point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the
second, he said that the voyage might be safely made
by the way of Venice and Genoa, and from thence
through France to England. “Ivanhoe,” he said,
“was so well acquainted with the language and man¬
ners of the French, that there was no fear of his in¬
curring any hazard during that part of his travels.”
“Would to God,” said the Lady Rowena. “he were
here safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the
approaching tourney, in which the chivalry of this
land are expected to display their address and valor.
Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize,
Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he reaches
England. — How looked he, stranger, when you last
saw him? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his
strength and comeliness?”
“He was darker,” said the Palmer, “and thinner,
than when he came from Cyprus1 in the train of
Cceur-de-Lion, and care seemed to sit heavy on his
brow; but I approached not his presence, because he
is unknown to me.”
“He will,” said the lady, “I fear, find little in his
native land to clear those clouds from his counten¬
ance. Thanks, good Pilgrim, for your information
concerning the companion of my childhood. — Maid-
ens,” she said, “draw near — offer the sleeping cup to
’Conquered by Richard on his way to Palestine.
IVANHOE
73
this holy man, whom I will no longer detain from
repose.”
One of the maidens presented a silver cup, con¬
taining a rich mixture of wine and spice, which
Rowena barely put to her lips. It was then offered
to the Palmer, who after a low obeisance, tasted a
few drops.
“Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady,
offering a piece of gold, “in acknowledgment of thy
painful travail, and of the shrines thou hast visited/’
The Palmer received the boon with another low
reverence, and followed Elgitha out of the apartment.
in the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold,
who, taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-
maid, conducted him wTith more haste than ceremony
to an exterior and ignoble part of the building, where
a number of small apartments, or rather cells, served
for sleeping places to the lower order of domestics,
and to strangers of mean degree.
“In which of these sleeps the Jew?” said the
Pilgrim.
“The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, “kennels
in the cell next your holiness. — St. Dunstan, how it
must be scraped and cleansed ere it be again fit for
a Christian!”
“And where sleeps Gurth the swineherd?” said
the stranger.
“Gurth,” replied the bondsman, “sleeps in the cell
on your right, as the Jew on that to your left; you
serve to keep the child of cicumcision separate from
the abomination of his tribe. You might have
occupied a more honorable place had you accepted
of Oswald's invitation.”
“It is as well as it is,” said the Palmer; “the com¬
pany, even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamina¬
tion through an oaken partition.”
74
IVANHOE
So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him,
ana\taking the torch from the domestic’s hand,
thanked him and wished him good-night. Having shut
the door of his cell, he placed the torch in a candle¬
stick made of wood, and looked around his sleeping
apartment, the furniture of which was of the most
simple kind. It consisted of a rude wooden stool, and ,
still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed with clean
straw, and accommodated with two or three sheep¬
skins by way of fred-clothes.
The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw ;
himself, without taking oif any part of his clothes,
on this rude couch, and slept, or at least retained
his recumbent posture, till the earliest sunbeams
found their way through the little grated window,
which served at once to admit both air and light to
his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, and
after repeating his matins, and adjusting his dress,
he left it, and entered that of Isaac the Jew, lifting
the latch as gently as he could.
The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a
couch similar to that on which the Palmer himself
had passed the night. Such parts of his dress as the
Jew had laid aside on the preceding evening, were
disposed carefully around his person, as if to pre¬
vent the hazard of their being carried off during his
slumbers. There was a trouble on his brow amount¬
ing almost to agony. His hands and arms moved
convulsively, as if struggling with the nightmare:
and besides several ejaculations in Hebrew, the fol¬
lowing were distinctly heard in the Norman English,
or mixed language of the country: “For the sake
of the God of Abraham, spare an unhappy old man!
I am poor, I am penniless — should your irons
wrench my limbs asunder, I could not gratify you!”
The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s
IVANHOE
75
vision, but stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The
touch probably associated, as is usual, with some of
the apprehensions excited by his dream; for the old
man started up, his gray hair standing almost erect
upon his head, and, huddling some part of his gar¬
ments about him, while he held the detached pieces
with the tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixed upon
the Palmer his keen black eyes, expressive of wild
surprise and. of bodily apprehension.
“Fear nothing from me, Isaac,” said the Palmer;
“I come as your friend.”
“The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew,
greatly relieved: “I dreamed — But Father Abraham
be praised, it was but a dream.” Then, collecting
himself, he added in his usual tone, “And what may
it be your pleasure to want at so early an hour with
the poor Jew?”
“It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “that if you
leave not this mansion instantly, and travel not
with some haste, your journey may prove a danger¬
ous one.”
“Holy father!” said the Jew, “whom could it in¬
terest to endanger so poor a wretch as I am?”
“The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pil¬
grim; “but rely on this, that when the Templar
crossed the hall yesternight, he spoke to his Mus¬
sulman slaves in the Saracen language, which I
well understand, and charged them this morning to
watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon him
when at a convenient distance from the mansion,
and to conduct him to the castle of Philip de Mal-
voisin, or to that of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.”
It is impossible to describe the extremity of
terror which seized upon the Jew at this informa¬
tion, and seemed at once to overpower his whole
faculties. His arms fell down to his sides, and his
76
IVANHOE
head drooped on his breast, his knees bent under
his weight, every nerve and muscle of his frame
seemed to collapse and lose its energy, and he sunk
at the foot of the Palmer, not in the fashion of one
who intentionally stoops, kneels, or prostrates him¬
self to excite compassion, but like a man borne
down on all sides by the pressure of some invisible
force, which crushes him to the earth without the
power of resistance.
“Holy God of Abraham!” was his first exclama¬
tion, folding and elevating his wrinkled hands, but
without raising his gray head from the pavement;
“0 holy Moses! 0 blessed Aaron! the dream is not
dreamed for naught, and the vision cometh not in
vain ! I feel their irons already tear my sinews ! I
feel the rack pass over my body like the saws, and
harrows, and axes of iron over the men of Rabbah,1
and of the cities of the children of Ammon!”
“Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,” said the
Palmer, who viewed the extremity of his distress
with a compassion in which contempt was largely
mingled; “you have cause for your terror, consider¬
ing how your brethren have been used, in order to
extort from them their hoards, both by princes and
nobles, but stand up, I say, and I will point out to
you the means of escape. Leave this mansion in¬
stantly, while its inmates sleep sound, after the last
night’s revel. I will guide you by the secret paths
of the forest, known as well to me as to any for¬
ester that ranges it, and I will not leave you till
you are under safe conduct of some chief or baron
going to the tournament, whose good-will you will
have probably the means of securing.”
As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape
*11 Samuel XII, 29, 31 ; I Chronicles XX, 3.
IVANHOE
77
which this speech intimated, he began gradually,
and inch by inch, as it were, to raise himself up
Ifrom the ground, until he fairly rested upon his
knees, throwing back his long gray hair and beard,
and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer’s
face, with a look expressive at once of hope and
fear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when he
heard the concluding part of the sentence, his or¬
iginal terror appeared to revive in full force, and
he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, “I
j possess the means of securing good-will! alas!
I there is but one road to the favor of a Christian,
and how can the poor Jew find it, whom extortions
have already reduced to the misery of Lazarus?”1
Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his other
feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, “For the love of
God, young man, betray me not — for the sake of
the Great Father who made us all, Jew as well as
Gentile, Israelite, and Ishmaelite2 — do me no treas¬
on! I have not means to secure the good-will of a
Christian beggar, were he rating it at a single
penny.” As he spoke these last words, he raised
himself, and grasped the Palmer’s mantle with a
look of the most earnest entreaty. The Pilgrim ex¬
tricated himself, as if there were contamination in
the touch.
“Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy
tribe,” he said, “what interest have I to injure
thee? — In this dress I am vowed to poverty, nor do
I change it for aught save a horse and a coat of
mail. Yet think not that I care for thy company,
or propose myself advantage by it; remain here if
^uke XVI. 19-31. Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.
Children of the son of Hagar and Abraham who were
treated as outcasts by the children of Israel, perhaps here
in the sense of Gentile.
78
IVANHOE
thou wilt — Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.”
“Alas!” said the Jew, “he will not let me travel
in his train — Saxon or Norman will be equally
ashamed of the poor Israelite, and to travel by my¬
self through the domains of Philip de Malvoisin
and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf — Good youth, I will
go with you! — Let us haste — let us gird up our
loins — let us flee! — Here is thy staff, why wilt thou
tarry?”
“I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the
urgency of his companion; “but I must secure the
means of leaving this place — follow me.”
He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as
the reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth the
swineherd — “Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim, “arise
quickly. Undo the postern gate, and let out the Jew
and me.”
Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so
mean, gave him as much consequence in Saxon
England as that of Eumaeus in Ithaca,1 was of¬
fended by the familiar and commanding tone as¬
sumed by the Palmer. “The Jew leaving Rother-
wood,” said he, raising himself on his elbow, and
looking superciliously at him without quitting his
pallet, “and traveling in company with the Palmer
to boot - ”
“I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba,
who entered the apartment at the instant, “of his
stealing away with a gammon of bacon.”
“Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down
his head on the wooden log which served him for
a pillow, “both Jew and Gentile must be content to
abide the opening of the great gate — we suffer no
Swineherd in Ithaca, the home of Ulysses.
Question : Does the Palmer have any motive in being
kind to the Jew?
IVANHOE
79
visitors to depart by stealth at these unseasonable
hours.”
“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a command¬
ing tone, “you will not, I think, refuse me that
favor.”
So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recum¬
bent swineherd, and whispered something in his ear
; in Saxon. Gurth started up as if electrified. The
jPirgrim, raising his finger in an attempt as if
express caution, added, “Gurth, beware — thou art
wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern — thou
shalt know more anon.”
With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while
Wamba and the Jew followed, both wondering at
the sudden change in the swineherd’s demeanor.
“My mule, my mule!” said the Jew, as soon as
! they stood without the postern.
“Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim; “and,
hearest thou, — let me have another, that I may bear
him company till he is beyond these parts — I will
return it safely to some of Cedric’s train at Ashby.
And do thou” — he whispered the rest in Gurth’s
ear.
“Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said
Gurth, and instantly departed to execute the com¬
mission.
“I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his com¬
rade’s back was turned, “what you Palmers learn
in the Holy Land.”
“To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pil¬
grim, “to repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves
with fastings, vigils, and long prayers.”
“Something more potent than that,” answered
the Jester, “for when would repentance or prayer
Question t What did the Palmer whisper in Gurth’s
ear?
80
IVANHOE
make Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil per¬
suade him to lend you a mule? — I trow you might
as well have told his favorite black boar of thy
vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as
civil an answer.”
“Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “thou art but a Saxon
fool.”
“Thou sayest well,” said the Jester; “had I been
born a Norman, as I think thou art, I would have
had luck on my side, and been next door to a wise
man.”
At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite
side of the moat with the mules. The travelers
crossed the ditch upon a drawbridge of only two
planks’ breadth, the narrowness of which was
matched with the straitness of the postern, and
with a little wicket in the exterior palisade, which
gave access to the forest. No sooner had they
reached the mules, than the Jew, with hasty and
trembling hands, secured behind the saddle a small
bag of blue buckram, which he took from under his
cloak, containing, as he muttered, “a change of
raiment — only a change of raiment.” Then get¬
ting upon the animal with more alacrity and haste
than could have been anticipated from his years,
he lost no time in so disposing of the skirts of
his gaberdine as to conceal completely from ob¬
servation the burden which he had thus deposited
en croupe.1
The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation,
reaching, as he departed, his hand to Gurth, wh|0
kissed it with the utmost possible veneration. The
swineherd stood gazing after the travelers until
they were lost under the boughs of the forest path,
Behind the saddla
IVANHOE
81
! when he was disturbed from his reverie by the voice
of Wamba.
“Knowest thou,” said the Jester, “my good
friend Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous
land most unwontedly pious on this summer morn¬
ing? I would I were a black Prior or a barefoot
Palmer, to avail myself of thy unwonted zeal and
courtesy — certes, I would make more out of it than
a kiss of the hand.”
“Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered
Gurth, “though thou arguest from appearances, and
the wisest of us can do no more. — But it is time to
look after my charge.”
So saying, he turned back to the mansion, at¬
tended by the Jester.
Meanwhile the travelers continued to press on
their journey with a dispatch which argued the
axtremity of the Jew’s fears, since persons at his
age are seldom fond of rapid motion. The Palmer,
to whom every path and outlet in the wood ap¬
peared to be familiar, led the way through the
most devious paths, and more than once excited
anew the suspicion of the Israelite, that he intended
to betray him into some ambuscade of his enemies.
His doubts might have been indeed pardoned;
for, except perhaps the flying fish, there was no
race existing on the earth, in the air, or the waters,
who were the objects of such an unintermitting,
general, and relentless persecution as the Jews of
this period. Upon the slightest and most unreason¬
able pretenses, as well as upon accusations the
most absurd and groundless, their persons and
property were exposed to every turn of popular
fury; for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, how-
Question : Had Isaac been telling the truth about not
having any money?
Ivan hoe
ever adverse these races were to each other, con¬
tended which should look with greatest detestation
upon a people, whom it was accounted a point of
religion to hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder,
and to persecute. The kings of the Norman race,
and the independent nobles, who followed their ex¬
ample in all acts of tyranny, maintained against
this devoted people a persecution of a more regu¬
lar, calculated, and self-interested kind. It is a
well-known story of King John, that he confined a
wealthy Jew in one of the royal castles, and daily
caused one of his teeth to be torn out, until, when
the jaw of the unhappy Israelite was half disfurnished,
he consented to pay a large sum, which it
was the tyrant’s object to extort from him. The
little ready money which was in the country was
chiefly in possession of this persecuted people, and
the nobility hesitated not to follow the example of
their sovereign, in wringing it from them by every
species of oppression, and even personal torture.
Yet the passive courage inspired by the love of
gain, induced the Jews to dare the various evils to
which they were subjected, in consideration of the
immense profits which they were enabled to realize
in a country naturally so wealthy as England. In
spite of every kind of discouragement, and even of
the special court of taxations already mentioned,
called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected for the very
purpose of despoiling and distressing them, the
Jews increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge
sums, which they transferred from one hand to an¬
other by means of bills of exchange1— an invention
for which commerce is said to be indebted to them,
and which enabled them to transfer their wealth
'These were orders, generally in duplicate, ordering peo¬
ple in distant parts to pay money.
Ivan hoe
83
from land to land, that, when threatened with op¬
pression in one country, their treasure might be
secured in another.
The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus
in a measure placed in opposition to the fanati¬
cism and tyranny of those under whom they lived,
seemed to increase in proportion to the persecution
with which they were visited; and the immense
wealth they usually acquired in commerce, while it
frequently placed them in danger, was at other
| times used to extend their influence, and to secure
to them a certain degree of protection. On these
j terms they lived; and their character, influenced
1 accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid —
! yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skillful in evading
the dangers to which they were exposed.
When the travelers had pushed on at a rapid rate
through many devious paths, the Palmer at length
broke silence.
“That large, decayed oak,” he said, “marks the
boundaries over which Front-de-Boeuf claims au¬
thority — we are long since far from those of Mai-
voisin. There is now no fear of pursuit.”
“May the wTheels of their chariots be taken off,”
said the Jew, “like those of the host of Pharoah,’
that they may drive heavily. But leave me not,
good Pilgrim. Think but of that fierce and savage
Templar, with his Saracen slaves — they will regard
neither territory, nor manor, nor lordship.”
“Our road,” said the Palmer, “should here separ¬
ate ! for it beseems not men of my character and
thine to travel together longer than needs must be.
Besides, what succor couldst thou have from me, a
peaceful Pilgrim, against two armed heathens?”
3 Exodus XIV, 25.
IVANIIOE
84 •
“0 good youth,” answered the Jew, “thou canst
defend me, and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I
am, I will requite it — not with money, for money,
so help me, my Father Abraham, I have none —
but—”
“Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, in¬
terrupting him, “I have already said I require not
of thee. Guide thee I can, and it may be, even in
some sort defend thee; since to protect a Jew
against a Saracen, can scarce be accounted un¬
worthy of a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I will see
thee safe under some fitting escort. We are now
not far from the town of Sheffield, where thou
mayest easily find many of thy tribe with wThom
to take refuge.”
“The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good
youth!” said the Jew; “in Sheffield I can harbor
with my kinsman Zareth, and find some means of
traveling forth with safety.”
“Be it so,” said the Palmer; “at Sheffield then
we part, and half-an-hour’s riding will bring us in
sight of that town.”
The half hour was spent in perfect silence on
both parts; the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to ad¬
dress the Jew, except in case of absolute neces¬
sity, and the Jew not presuming to force a con¬
versation with a person whose journey to the Holy
Sepulcher gave a sort of sanctity to his character.
They paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and
the Pilgrim, pointing to the town of Sheffield, which
lay beneath them, repeated the words, “Here, then,
we part.”
“Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,”
said Isaac; “for I presume not to ask you to go
with me to my kinsman Zareth’s, who might aid
me with some means of repaying your good offices/'
IVANHOE
85
“I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim,
“that I desire no recompense. If, among the huge
list of thy debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, spare
the gyves and the dungeon to some unhappy
Christian who stands in thy danger,1 I shall hold
this morning’s service to thee well bestowed.”
“Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his
garment; “something would I do more than this,
something for thyself. — God knows the Jew is poor
— yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe — but forgive
me should I guess what thou most lacl^est at this
moment.”
“If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer,
“it is what thou canst not supply, wert thou as
wealthy as thou sayeth thou art poor.”
“As I say?” echoed the Jew; “0! believe it, I
say but the truth ; I am a plundered, indebted, dis¬
tressed man. Hard hands have wrung from me my
goods, my money, my ships, and all that I pos¬
sessed. — Yet I can tell thee what thou lackest,
and, it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now
is for a horse and armor.”
The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards
the Jew. — “What fiend prompted that guess?” said
he, hastily.
“No matter,” said the Jew, smiling, “so that it
be a true one — and, as I can guess thy want, so I
can supply it.”
“But consider,” said the Palmer, “my character,
my dress, my vow.”
“I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “and
that the noblest of you will take the staff and sand¬
al in superstitious penance, and walk afoot to visit
the graves of dead men.”
Tn thy power.
86
IVANHOE
“Blaspheme not, Jew,” said the Pilgrim, sternly.
“Forgive me,” said the Jew; “I spoke rashly.
But there dropt words from you last night and this
morning, that, like sparks from flint, showed the
metal within; and in the bosom of that Palmer’s
gown is hidden a knight’s chain and spurs of gold.
They glanced as you stooped over my bed in the
morning.”
The Pilgrim could not forbear smilling. “Were
thy garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,”
said he, “what discoveries might not be made?”
“No more of that,” said the Jew, changing color;
and drawing forth his writing materials in haste,
as if to stop the conversation, he began to write
upon a piece of paper which he supported on the
top of his yellow cap, without dismounting from his
mule. When he had finished, he delivered the scroll,
which was in the Hebrew character, to the Pil¬
grim. saying, “In the town of Leicester all men
know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy;
give him this scroll — he hath on sale six Milan1
harnesses, the worst would suit a crowned head —
ten goodly steeds, the worst might mount a king,
were he to do battle for his throne. Of these he
will give thee thy choice, with everything else that
can furnish thee forth for the tournament; when
it is over, thou wilt return them safely — unless
thou shouldst have wherewith to pay their value
to the owner.”
“But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, “dost
thou know that in these sports, the arms and steed
of the knight who is unhorsed are forfeit to his
^riien capital of Lombardy of Northern Italy.
Question : How did Isaac guess what the Palmer- had
been wanting?
IVANHOE
yictor? Now I may be unfortunate, and so lose
what I cannot replace or repay.”
The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this pos¬
sibility; but collecting his courage, he replied
hastily: “No — no — no — It is impossible — I will not
think so. The blessing of Our Father will be upon
thee. Thy lance will be powerful as the rod of
Moses.”
So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away,
when the Palmer,, in his turn, took hold of his
gaberdine. “Nay, but, Isaac, thou knowest not all
the risk. The steed may be slain, the armor in-
jjured — for I will spare neither horse nor man.
■Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing for noth¬
ing; something there must be paid for their use.”
The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man
in a fit of the colic; but his better feelings pre¬
dominated over those which were most familiar to
him. “I care not,” he said, “I care not — let me
go. If there is damage, it will cost you nothing — if
there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam will forgive
it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare thee
well! — Yet hark thee, good youth,” said he, turning
about; “thrust thyself not too forward into this
vain hurly-burly — I speak not for endangering the
steed, and coat of armor, but for the sake of thine
own life and limbs.”
“Gramercy for thy caution,” said the Palmer,
again smiling; “I will use thy courtesy frankly, and
it will go hard with me but I will requite it.”
They parted and took different roads for the town
of Sheffield.
CHAPTER VII
Knights, with a long retinue of their squires,
In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires ;
One laced the helm, another held the lance,
A third the shining buckler did advance.
The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet,
And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit.
The smiths and armorers on palfreys ride,
Files in their hands, and hammers at their side ;
And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide.
The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands;
And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands.
Palamon and Arcite.
The condition of the English nation was at this
time sufficiently miserable. King Richard was ab¬
sent a prisoner, and in the power of the perfidious
and cruel Duke of Austria.1 Even the very place
of his captivity was uncertain, and his fate but
very imperfectly known to the generality of his
subjects, who were, in the meantime, a prey to
every species of subaltern oppression.2
Prince John, in league with Philip of France,
Cceur-de-Lion’s mortal enemy was using every
species of influence with the Duke of Austria, to
prolong the captivity of his brother Richard, to
whom he stood indebted for so many favors. In
the meantime, he was strengthening his own faction
in the kindgom, of which he proposed to dispute
the succession, in case of the King’s death, with
1 While returning from a crusade, Richard was taken
prisoner. He was held by the Duke of Austria much to
the delight of Prince John, who preferred to hold control
of the kingdom. In 1194, he escaped and returned to Eng¬
land.
Oppression by those under the king.
IVANHOE
89
!
I the legitimate heir, Arthur, Duke of Brittany, son
j of Geoffrey Plantaganet, the elder brother of John.
(This usurpation, it is well known, he afterward
effected. His own character being light, profligate,
-and perfidious, John easily attached to his person
and faction, not only all who had reason to dread
the resentment of Richard for criminal proceed-
! ings during his absence, but also the numerous
! class of “lawless resolutes,”1 whom the crusades
had turned back on their country, accomplished in
the vices of the East, impoverished in substance,
and hardened in character, and who placed their
hopes of harvest in civil commotion.
To these causes of public distress and apprehen-
s sion, must be added the multitude of outlaws, who,
driven to despair by the oppression of the feudal
nobility, and the severe exercise of the forest
laws, banded together in large gangs, and, keeping
possession of the forests and the wastes, set at
defiance the justice and magistracy of the country.
The nobles themselves, each fortified within his
own castle, and playing the petty sovereign over
his own dominions, were the leaders of bands
scarce less lawless and oppressive than those of
the avowed depredators. To maintain these re¬
tainers, and to support the extravagance and mag¬
nificence which their pride induced them to affect,
the nobility borrowed sums of money from the Jews
at the most usurious interest, which gnawed into
their estates like consuming cankers, scarce to be
cured unless when circumstances gave them an
opportunity of getting free, by exercising upon
their creditors some act of unprincipled violence.
Under the various burdens imposed by this un¬
happy state of affairs, the people of England suf-
1Desperadoes.
90
IVANHOE
fered deeply for the present, and had yet more
dreadful cause to fear for the future. To augment
their misery, a contagious disorder of a dangerous
nature spread through the land; and, rendered
more virulent by the uncleanness, the indifferent
food, and the wretched lodging of the lower classes,
swept off many whose fate the survivors were
tempted to envy, as exempting them from the evils
which were to come.
Yet amid these accumulated distresses, the poor
as well as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble,
in the event of a tournament, which was the grand
spectacle of that age, felt as much interested as
the half-starved citizen of Madrid, who has not a
real left to buy provisions for his family, feels in
the issue of a bull-fight. Neither duty nor infirmity
could keep youth or age from such exhibitions.
The Passage of Arms, as it was called, which was
to take place at Ashby, in the county of Leicester,
as champions of the first renown were to take the
field in the presence of Prince John himself, who
was expected to grace the lists, had attracted uni¬
versal attention, and an immense confluence of
persons of all ranks hastened upon the appointed
morning to the place of combat.
The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge
of a wood, which approached to within a mile of
the town of Ashby, was an extensive meadow, of
the finest and most beautiful green turf, surrounded
on one side by the forest, and fringed on the other
by straggling oak-trees, some of which had grown
to an immense size. The ground, as if fashioned
on purpose for the martial display which was in¬
tended, sloped gradually down on all sides to a
level bottom, which was inclosed for the lists with
strong palisades, forming a space of a quarter of a
IVANHOE
91
mile in length, and about half as broad. The form
of the inclosure was an oblong square, save that the
corners were considerably rounded off, in order to
afford more convenience for the spectators. The
openings for the entry of the combatants were at
the northern and southern extremities of the lists,
accessible by strong wooden gates, each wide
enough to admit two horsemen riding abreast. At
each of these portals were stationed two heralds,
attended by six trumpets, as many pursuivants,1 and
a strong body of men-at-arms for maintaining or¬
der, and ascertaining the quality of the knights
who proposed to engage in this martial game.
On a platform beyond the southern entrance,
formed by a natural elevation of the ground, were
pitched five magnificent pavilions, adorned with
pennons of russet and black, the chosen colors of
the five knights challengers. The cords of the
tents were of the same color. Before each pavilion
was suspended the shield of the knight by whom
it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire,
quaintly disguised as a salvage2 or silvan man, or
in some other fantastic dress, according to the
taste of his master, and the character he was
pleased to assume during the game.3 The central
pavilion, as the place of honor, had been assigned
to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in all
games of chivalry, no less than his connection with
the knights who had undertaken this Passage of
1 Attendants to the heralds.
^Savage, a woodsman.
3“This sort of masquerade is supposed to have occasioned
the introduction of supporters into the science of heraldry.”
—Scott.
Question: What events to-day are similar to a tourna¬
ment in the interests of the people?
92
IVANHOE
Arms, had occasioned him to be eagerly received
into the company of the challengers, and even ad¬
opted as their chief and leader, though he had so
recently joined them. On one side of his tent
were pitched those of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf and
Richard de Malvoisin, and on the other was the
pavilion of Hugh de Grantmesnil, a noble baron in
the vicinity, whose ancestor had been Lord High
Steward of England in the time of the Conqueror,
and his son William Rufus. Ralph de Vipont, a
knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who had some an¬
cient possessions at a place called Heather near
Ashby-de-la-Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion.
From the entrance into the lists, a gently sloping
passage, ten yards in breadth, led up to the plat¬
form on which the tents were pitched. It was
strongly secured by a palisade on each side, as
was the esplanade in front of the pavilions, and
the whole was guarded by men-at-arms.
The northern access to the lists terminated in a
similar entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the ex¬
tremity of which was a large inclosed space for
such knights as might be disposed to enter the lists
with the challengers, behind which were placed
tents containing refreshments of every kind for
their accommodation, with armorers, farriers, and
other attendants, in readiness to give their services
wherever they might be necessary.
The exterior of the lists was in part occupied
by temporary galleries, spread with tapestry and
carpets, and accommodated with cushions for the
convenience of those ladies and nobles who were
expected to attend the tournament. A narrow
space, betwixt these galleries and the lists, gave
accommodation for yeomanry and spectators of a
better degree than the mere vulgar, and might be
IVANHOE
93
jcompared to the pit of a theater. The promiscuous
multitude arranged themselves upon large banks
of turf prepared for the purpose which, aided by
the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them
to overlook the galleries, and obtain a fair view
into the lists. Besides the accommodation which
these stations afforded, many hundreds had perched
themselves on the branches of the trees which
surrounded the meadow; and even the steeple of
a country church, at some distance, was crowded
with spectators.
It only remains to notice respecting the general
arrangement that one gallery in the very center of
the eastern side of the lists, and consequently ex¬
actly opposite to the spot where the shock of the
combat was to take place, was raised higher than
the others, more richly decorated and graced by a
sort of throne and canopy, on which the royal arms
were emblazoned. Squires, pages, and yeomen in
rich liveries waited around this place of honor,
which was designed for Prince John and his at¬
tendants. Opposite to this royal gallery was an¬
other, elevated to the same height, on the western
side of the lists; and more gayly, if less sumptu¬
ously decorated, than that destined for the Prince
himself. A train of pages and of young maidens,
the most beautiful who could be selected, gayly
dressed in fancy habits of green and pink, sur¬
rounded a throne decorated in the same colors.
Among pennons and flags bearing wounded hearts,
burning hearts, bleeding hearts, bows and quivers,
and all the commonplace emblems of the triumphs
of Cupid, a blazoned inscription informed the spec¬
tators that this seat of honor was designed for
La Royne de la Beaulte et des Amours / But who
aThe Queen of Beauty and of Love.
94
Ivan hoe
was to represent the Queen of Beauty and of Love
on the present occasion, no one was prepared to
guess.
Meanwhile, spectators of every description
thronged forward to occupy their respective sta¬
tions, and not without many quarrels concerning
those which they were entitled to hold. Some of
these were settled by the men-at-arms with brief
ceremony; the shafts of their battle-axes and pom¬
mels of their swords being readily employed as
arguments to convince the more refractory. Others,
which involved the rival claims of more elevated
persons, were determined by the heralds or by the
two marshals of the field, William de Wyvil. and
Stephen de Martival, who, armed at all points, rode
up and down the lists to enforce and preserve good
order among the spectators.
Gradually the galleries became filled with knights
and nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and
rich-tinted mantles were contrasted with the gayer
and more splendid habits of the ladies, who, in a
greater portion than even the men themselves,
thronged to witness a sport, which one would have
thought too bloody and dangerous to afford their
sex much pleasure. The lower and interior space
was soon filled by substantial yeomen and burghers
and such of the lesser gentry, as from modesty, pov¬
erty, or dubious title, durst not assume any higher
place. It was of course amongst these that the mosl
frequent disputes for precedence occurred.
“Dog of an unbeliever,” said an old man, whose
threadbare tunic bore witness to his poverty, as
his sword, and dagger, and golden chain intimatec
his pretensions to rank, “whelp of a she-wolf!
darest thou press upon a Christian, and a Normal
gentleman of the blood of Montdidier?”
IVANHOE
95
This rough expostulation was addressed to no
other than our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and
even magnificently dressed in a gaberdine orna¬
mented with lace and lined with fur, was endeavor¬
ing to make place in the foremost row beneath the
gallery for his daughter, the beautiful Rebecca,
who had joined him at Ashby, and who was now
hanging on her father’s arm, not a little terrified
by the popular displeasure which seemed generally
excited by her parent’s presumption. But Isaac,
though we have seen him sufficiently timid on other
occasions, knew well that at present he had nothing
to fear. It was not in places of general resort, or
where their equals were assembled, that any avari¬
cious or malevolent noble durst offer him injury.
At such meetings the Jews were under the protec¬
tion of the general law; and if that proved a weak
assurance, it usually happened that there were
among the persons assembled some barons, who,
for their own interested motives, were ready to act
as their protectors. On the present occasion.
Isaac felt more than usually cqnfident, being aware
that Prince John was even then in the very act of
negotiating a large loan from the Jews of York, to
be secured upon certain jewels and lands. Isaac’s
own share in this transaction was considerable,
and he well knew that the Prince’s eager desire
to bring it to a conclusion would insure him his
protection in the dilemma in which he stood.
Emboldened by these considerations, th.e Jew pur¬
sued his point, and jostled the Norman Christian,
without respect either to his descent, quality, or
religion. The complaints of the old man, however,
excited the indignation of the bystanders. One of
Question: Why did Isaac have nothing to fear?
96
IVANHOE
these, a stout well-set yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln-
green,1 having twelve arrows stuck in his belt, with
a baldric and badge of silver, and a bow of six
feet length in his hand, turned short round, and
while his countenance, which his constant ex- j
posure to weather had rendered brown as a hazel
nut, grew darker with anger, he advised the Jew to
remember that all the wealth he had acquired by
sucking the blood of his miserable victims had but
swelled him like a bloated spider, which might be
overlooked while it kept in a corner, but would be
crushed if it ventured into the light. This intima¬
tion, delivered in Norman-English with a firm voice !
and a stern aspect, made the Jew shrink back; and
he would have probably withdrawn himself altogeth- 1
er from a vicinity so dangerous, had not the atten-
tion of every one been called to the sudden entrance j
of Prince John, who at that moment entered the
lists, attended by a numerous and gay train, con¬
sisting partly of laymen, partly of churchmen, as
light in their dress, and as gay in their demeanor,
as their companions. Among the latter was the I
Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trim which a 1
dignitary of the church could venture to exhibit.
Fur and gold were not spared in his garments; and ;
the point of his boots, out-heroding the preposterous !
fashion of the time, turned up so very far, as to be 1
attached, not to his knees merely, but to his very
girdle, and effectually prevented him from putting *
his foot into the stirrup. This, however, was a slight !
inconvenience to the gallant Abbot, who, perhaps,
even rejoicing in the opportunity to display his ac- 1
complished horsemanship before so many spectators,
A bright green cloth worn by foresters. It was made
at Lincoln.
Ivan hoe
97
specially of the fair sex, dispensed with the use
f these supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince
)hn’s retinue consisted of the favorite leaders of his
ercenary troops, some marauding barons and profli-
ate attendants upon the court, with several Knights
emplars and Knights of St. John.
It may be here remarked, that the knights of these
vvo orders were accounted hostile to King Rich-
rd, having adopted the side of Philip of France
i the long train of disputes which took place in
alestine betwixt that monarch and the lion-hearted
ling of England. It was the well-known conse-
uence of this discord that Richard’s repeated vic-
Dries had been rendered fruitless, his romantic at-
impts to besiege Jerusalem disappointed, and the
ruit of all the glory which he had acquired had
windled into an uncertain truce with the Sultan
aladin. With the same policy which had dictated
he conduct of their brethren in the Holy Land, the
'emplars and Hospitallers in England and Nor-
landy attached themselves to the faction of Prince
ohn, having little reason to desire the return of
lichard to England, or the succession of Arthur, his
egitimate heir. For the opposite reason, Prince
ohn hated and contemned the few Saxon families of
onsequence which subsisted in England, and omitted
10 opportunity of mortifying and affronting them,
eing conscious that his person and pretensions were
;isliked by them as well as by the greater part of the
English commons, who feared farther innovation
ipon their rights and liberties, from a sovereign of
ohn’s licentious and tyrannical disposition.
Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well
nounted, and splendidly dressed in crimson and in
Told, bearing upon his hand a falcon, and having
lis head covered by a rich fur bonnet, adorned with
i circle of precious stones, from which his long
98
Ivan hoe
curled hair escaped and overspread his shoulder;
Prince John, upon a gray and high-mettled palfrej
caracoled within the lists at the head of his jovis
party, laughing loud with his train, and eyeing wit
all the boldness of royal criticism the beauties wh
adorned the lofty; galleries.
-Those who remarked in the physiognomy of th
Prince a dissolute audacity, mingled with extreir
haughtiness and indifference to the feelings of otl
ers, could not yet deny to his countenance that so;
of comeliness which belongs to an open set of fer
tures, well formed by nature modeled by art to tt
usual rules of courtesy, yet so frank and honest th<*
they seemed as if they disclaimed to conceal the na
uraT workings of the soul. Such an expression is of
en mistaken for manly frankness, when in truth
arises from the reckless indifference of a libertir
disposition, conscious of superiority of birth, <
wealth, or of some other adventitious advantag
totally unconnected with personal merit. To tho;
who did not think so deeply, and they were tl
greater number by a hundred to one, the splend<
of Prince John’s rheno (i. e., fur tippet), the ric]
ness of his cloak, lined with the most costly sable
his maroquin boots and golden spurs, together wii
the grace with which he managed his palfrey, we:
sufficient to merit clamorous applause.
In his joyous caracole round the lists, the atte
tion of the Prince was called by the commotion, n
yet subsided, which had attended the ambitio-
movement of Isaac towards the higher places of tl
assembly. The quick eye of Prince John instant
recognized the Jew, but was much more agreeab
attracted by the beautiful daughter of Zion, wh
terrified by the tumult, clung close to the arm
her aged father.
. The figure ; of Rebecca might indeed have cor
IVANHOE
99
pared with the proudest beauties of England, even
though it had been judged by as shrewd a connois¬
seur as Prince John. Her form was exquisitely sym¬
metrical, and was shown to advantage by a sort of
Eastern dress, which she wore according to the
fashion of the females of her nation. Her turban
of yellow silk suited well with the darkness of her
complexion. The brilliancy of her eyes, the superb
arch of bier eyebrows, her well-formed aquiline nose,
her teeth as white as pearl, and the profusion of her
sable tresses, which, each arranged in its own little
spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon as much of a
lovely neck and bosom as a simarre of the richest
Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in their natural
colors embossed upon a purple ground, permitted to
be visible — all these constituted a combination of
loveliness, which yielded not to the most beautiful
of the maidens who surrounded her. It is true, that
of the golden and pearl-studded clasps, which closed
her vest from the throat to the waist, the three up¬
permost were left unfastened on account of the heat,
which something enlarged the prospect to which we
allude. A diamond necklace, with pendants of in¬
estimable value, were by this means also made more
conspicuous. The feather of an ostrich, fastened in
her turban by an agraffe set with brilliants, was
another distinction of the beautiful Jewess, scoffed
and sneered at by the proud dames who sat above
her, but secretly envied by those who affected to
deride them.
“By the bald scalp of Abraham,” said Prince
John, “yonder Jewess must be the very model of
that perfection, whose charms drove frantic the
wisest king that ever lived! What sayest thou, Prior
Aymer? — By the Temple of that wise king, which
100
IVANHOE
our wiser brother Richard proved unable to recover*
she is the very Bride of the Canticles!”1
“The Rose of Sharon2 and the Lily of the Valley,”
answered the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone; “but
your Grace must remember she is still but a Jewess.”
“Ay!” added Prince John, without heeding him,
“and there is my Mammon3 of unrighteousness too —
the Marquis of Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contest¬
ing for place with penniless dogs, whose threadbare
cloaks have not a single cross in their pouches to
keep the devil from dancing there. By the body of
St. Mark, my prince of supplies, with his lovely
Je\vess shall have a place in the gallery! — What is
she, Isaac? Thy wife or thy daughter, that Eastern
houri that thou lockest under thy arm as thou
wouldst thy treasure-casket?”
“My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace,”
answered Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embar¬
rassed by the Prince’s salutation, in which, however,
there was at least as much mockery as courtesy.
“The wiser man thou,” said John, with a peal of
laughter, in which his gay followers obsequiously
joined. “But, daughter or wife, she should be
preferred according to her beauty and thy merits. —
Who sits above there?” he continued, bending his
eye on the gallery. “Saxon churls, lolling at their
lazy length! — out upon them! — let them sit close,
and make room for my prince of usurers and his
lovely daughter. I’ll make the hinds know they
must share the high places of the synagogue with
those whom the synagogue properly belongs to.”
Tho:e who occupied the gallery to whom this in¬
jurious and unpolite speech was addressed, were the
family of Cedric the Saxon, with that of his ally
*Songs of Solomon.
2Song of Solomon II, 1.
8Syrian God of Riches, used to personify worldliness.
IVANHOE
101
and kinsman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, a per¬
sonage who, on account of his descent from the last
Saxon monarchs of England, was held in the highest
respect by all the Saxon natives of the north of Eng¬
land. But with the blood of this ancient royal race,
many of their infirmities had descended to Athel¬
stane. He was comely in countenance, bulky and
strong in person, and in the flower of his age — yet
inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy-browed,
inactive and sluggish in all his motions, and so slow
in resolution that the soubriquet of one of his an¬
cestors was conferred upon him, and he was very gen¬
erally called Athelstane the Unready. His friends,
and he had many, who, as well as Cedric, were
passionately attached to him, contended that this
sluggish temper arose not from want of courage, but
from mere want of decision; others alleged that his
hereditary vice of drunkenness had obscured his
faculties, never of a very acute order, and that the
passive courage and meek good-nature which re¬
mained behind were merely the dregs of a character
that might have been deserving of praise, but of
which all the valuable parts had flown off in the
progress of a long course of brutal debauchery.
It was to this person, such as we have described
him, that the Prince addressed his imperious com¬
mand to make place for Isaac and Rebecca. Athel¬
stane, utterly confounded at an order which the
manners and feelings of the times rendered so in¬
juriously insulting, unwilling to obey, yet undeter¬
mined how to resist, opposed only the vis inertiae1 to
the will of John; and, without stirring or making
any motion whatever of obedience, opened his large
gray eyes, and stared at the Prince with an as¬
tonishment which had in it something extremely
'Sluggishness (strength of inertia).
102
IVANHOE
ludicrous. But the impatient John regarded it in no
such light.
“The Saxon porker,” he said, “is either asleep
or minds me not — prick him with your lance, De
Bracy,” speaking to a knight who rode near him,
the leader of a band of Free Companions, or Con-
dottieri; that is, of mercenaries belonging to no
particular nation, but attached for the time to any
prince by whom they were paid. There was a mur¬
mur even among the attendants of Prince John; but
De Bracy, whose profession freed him from all
scruples, extended his long lance over the space
which separated the gallery from the lists, and would
have executed the commands of the Prince before
Athelstane the Unready had recovered presence of
mind sufficient even to draw back his person from
the weapon, had not Cedric, as prompt as his com¬
panion was tardy, unsheathed, with the speed of
lightning, the short sword which he wore, and at a
single blow severed the point of the lance from the
handle. The blood rushed into the countenance of
Prince John. He swore one of his deepest oaths,
and was about to utter some threat corresponding in
violence, when he was diverted from his purpose,
partly by his own attendants, who gathered arornd
him conjuring him to be patient, partly by a general
exclamation of the crowd, uttered in loud applause
of the spirited conduct of Cedric. The Prince rolled
his eyes in indignation, as if to collect some safe and
easy victim; and chancing to encounter the firm
glance of the same archer whom we have already no¬
ticed, and who seemed to persist in his gesture of
applause, in spite of the frowning aspect which the
Prince bent upon him, he demanded his reason for
clamoring thus.
Ivan hoe
103
| “I always add my hollo, ,n said the yeoman, “when
see a good shot, or a gallant blow.”
“Sayest thou?” answered the Prince; “then thou
:anst hit the white* 2 thyself, I’ll warrant.”
“A woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance
' can hit,” answered the yeoman.
“And Wat Tyrrel’s mark,3 at a hundred yards,”
jaid a voice from behind, but by whom uttered could
tot be discerned.
This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, his
grandfather, at once incensed and alarmed Prince
fohn. He satisfied himself, however, with command¬
ing the men-at-arms, who surrounded the lists, to
keep an eye on the braggart, pointing to the yeoman,
“By St. Grizzel,”4 he added, “we will try his own
skill, who is so ready to give his voice to the feats
of others!”
“I shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with
the composure which marked his whole deportment.
“Mjeanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the
fiery Prince; “for, by the light of Heaven, since I
have said it, the Jew shall have his seat amongst
ye!” . .
“By no means, an it please your Grace !— it is
not fit for such as we to sit with the rulers of the
land,” said the Jew; whose ambition for precedence,
though it had led him to dispute place with the ex¬
tenuated and impoverished descendant of the line
of Montdidier, by no means stimulated him to an
intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthy Saxons.
“Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said
Applause.
2The bull’s eye of the target.
Supposed to have killed William Rufus by an arrow
while they were hunting.
‘Model patience and wifely obedience.
104
IVANHOE
Prince John, “or I will have thy swarthy hide stript
off, and tanned for horse-furniture!”
Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and
narrow steps which led up to the gallery.
“Let me see,” said the Prince, “who dare stop
him!” fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude inti¬
mated his intention to hurl the Jew down headlong.
The catastrophe was prevented by the clown
Wamba, who, springing betwixt his master and Isaac,
and exclaiming, in answer to the Prince’s defiance,
“Marry, that will I!” opposed to the beard of the
Jew a shield of brawn, which he plucked from be¬
neath his cloak, and with which, doubtless, he had
furnished himself, lest the tournament should have
proved longer than his appetite could endure abstin¬
ence. Finding the abomination of his tribe opposed
to his very nose, while the Jester, at the same time,
flourished his wooden sword above his head, the Jew
recoiled, missed his footing, and rolled down the
steps, — an excellent jest to the spectators, who set up
a loud laughter, in which Prince John and his at¬
tendants heartily joined.
“Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba;
“I have vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword
and shield,” he added, brandishing the brawn in one
hand and the wooden sword in the other.
“Who and what art thou, noble champion?” said
Prince John, still laughing.
“A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester;
“I am Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son
of Weatherbrain, who was the son of an Alderman.”
“Make room for the Jew in front of the lower
ring,” said Prince John, not unwilling perhaps to
seize an apology to desist from his original purpose;
“to place the vanquished beside the victor were false
heraldry.”
“Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the
IVANHOE
105
Jester, “and Jew upon bacon worst of all.”
“Gramercy! good fellow,” cried Prince John, “thou
pleasest me — Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of
byzants.”
As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to re¬
fuse, and unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred
bag which hung by his girdle, and was perhaps en¬
deavoring to ascertain how few coins might pass for
a handful, the Prince stooped from his jennet and
settled Isaac’s doubts by snatching the pouch itself
from his side; and flinging to Wamba a couple of
the gold pieces which it contained, he pursued his
career round the lists, leaving the Jew to the derision
of those around him, and himself receiving as much
applause from the spectators as if he had done some
honest and honorable action.
CHAPTER VIII
At this the challenger with fierce defy
His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply ;
With clangor rings the fieM, resounds the vaulted sky.
Their visors closed, their lances in the rest,
Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest,
They vanish from the barrier, speed the race,
And spurring see decrease the middle space.
Palamon and Arcite.
In the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he sud¬
denly stopt, and appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx,
declared the principal business of the day had been
forgotten.
“By my halidom,” said he, “we have neglected,
Sir Prior, to name the fair Sovereign of Love and
of Beauty, by whose white hand the palm is to be
distributed. For my part, I am liberal in my ideas,
and I care not if I give my vote for the black-eyed
Rebecca.”
“Holy Virgin,” answered the Prior, turning up
his eyes in horror, “a Jewess! — We should deserve
,to be stoned out of the lists; and I am not yet old
enough to be a martyr. Besides, I swear by my
patron saint, that she is far inferior to the lovely
Saxon, Rowena.”
“Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince, “Saxon or
Jew, dog or hog, what matters it! I say, name
Rebecca, were it only to mortify the Saxon churls.”
A murmur arose even among his own immediate
attendants.
“This passes a jest, my lord,” said De Bracy;
“no knight here will lay lance in rest if such an
insult is attempted.”
“It is the mere wantonness of insult,” said one of
the oldest and most important of Prince John’s fol-
Ivan hoe
107
lowers, Waldemar Fitzurse, “and if your Grace at¬
tempt it, cannot but prove ruinous to your projects.”
“1 entertained you, sir,” said John, reining up his
palfrey haughtily, “for my follower, but not for my
counselor.”
“Those who follow your Grace in the paths which
you tread,” said Waldemar, but speaking in a low
voice, “acquire the right of counselors; for your in¬
terest and safety are not more deeply gaged than
their own.”
From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw
the necessity of acquiescence. “I did but jest,” he
said; “and you turn upon me like so many adders!
Name whom you will, in the fiend's name, and please
yourselves.”
“Nay, nay,” said De Bracy, “let the fair sover¬
eign's throne remain unoccupied until the con¬
queror shall be named, and then let him choose the
lady by whom it shall be filled. It will add another
grace to his triumph, and teach fair ladies to prize
the love of valiant knights, who can exalt them to
such distinction.”
“If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,” said
the Prior, “I will gage my rosary that I name the
Sovereign of Love and Beauty.”
“Bois-Guilbert,” answered De Bracy, “is a good
lance; but there are others around these lists, Sir
Prior, who will not fear to encounter him.”
“Silence, sirs,” said Waldemar, “and let the Prince
assume his seat. The knights and spectators are
alike impatient, the time advances, and highly fit it
is that the sports should commence.”
Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in
Waldemar Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favor¬
ite minister, who, in serving his sovereign, must al¬
ways do so in his own way. The Prince acquiesced,
however, although his disposition was precisely of
108
IVANHOE
that kind which is apt to be obstinate upon trifles
and, assuming his throne, and being surrounded bj
his followers, gave signal to the heralds to proclaiir
the laws of the tournament, which were briefly at
follows:,
First, the five challengers were to undertake ali
comers.
Secondly, any knight proposing to combat, might
if he pleased, select a special antagonist from among
the challengers, by touching his shield. If he did scj
with the reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was!
made with what were called the arms of courtesy
that is, with lances at whose extremity a piece oJ
round flat board was fixed, so that no danger was en
countered, save from the shock of the horses and
riders. But if the shield was touched with the sharp
end of the lance, the combat was understood to be al
outmnce / that is, the knights were to fight with
sharp weapons, as in actual battle.
Thirdly, when the knights present had accom¬
plished their vow, by each of them breaking five
lances, the Prince was to declare the victor in the
first day’s tourney, who should receive as prize z
war-horse of exquisite beauty and matchless;
strength; and in addition to this reward of valor, it
was now declared, he should have the peculiar hon¬
or of naming the Queen of Love and Beauty, bj
whom the prize should be given on the ensuing day
Fourthly, it was announced, that, on the second
day, there should be a general tournament, in which
all the knights present, who were desirous to win
praise, might take part; and being divided into two
bands, of equal numbers, might fight it out manfully,
until the signal was given by Prince John to cease
the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beauty
To the uttermost, to the death.
IVANHOE
109
tvas then to crown the knight whom the Prince
should adjudge to have borne himself best in this
second day, with a coronet composed of thin gold
plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On this
second day the knightly games ceased. But on that
which was to follow, feats of archery, of bull-baiting,
and other popular amusements, were to be prac¬
ticed for the more immediate amusement of the pop¬
ulace. In this manner did Prince John endeavor to
lay the foundation of a popularity, which he was
perpetually throwing down by some inconsiderate
act of wanton aggression upon the feelings and
prejudices of the people.
The lists now presented a most splendid 'spectacle.
The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was
noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful, in the northern
and midland parts of England; and the contrast of
the various dresses of these dignified spectators
rendered the view as gay as it was rich, while the
interior and lower space, filled with the substantial
burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in
their more plain attire, a dark fringe, or bordic,
around this circle of brilliant embroidery, relieving,
and, at the same time, setting off its splendor.
The heralds finished their proclamation with their
usual cry of ‘‘Largesse, largesse, gallant knights!
and gold and silver pieces were showered on them
from the gallery, it being a high point of chivalry
to exhibit liberality towards those whom the age ac¬
counted at once the secretaries and the historians of
honor. The bounty of the spectators was acknowl¬
edged by the customary shouts of “Love of Ladies
_ Death of Champions— Honor to the Generous —
Glory to the Brave!” To which the more humble
spectators added their acclamations, and a numerous
Question: What were the rules of the tournament?
110
Ivan hoe
I
band of trumpeters the flourish of their martial in- 1
struments. When these sounds had ceased, the
heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and glitter¬
ing procession, and none remained within them sj^ve
the marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat
on horseback, motionless as statues, at the opposite
end of the lists. Meantime, the inclosed space at
the northern extremity of the lists, large as it was,
was now completely crowded with knights desirous
to prove their skill against the challengers, and,
when viewed from the galleries, presented the ap¬
pearance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed
with glistening helmets, and tall lances, to the ex¬
tremities of which were, in many cases, attached
small pennons of about a span’s breadth, which, flut¬
tering in the air as the breeze caught them, joined
with the restless motion of the feathers to add live¬
liness to the scene.
At length the barriers were opened, and five
knights, chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the
area; a single champion riding in front, and the
other four following in pairs. All were splendidly
armed, and my Saxon authority (in the Wardour
Manuscript)1 records at great length their devices,
their colors, and the embroidery of their horse trap¬
pings. It is unnecessary to be particular on these
subjects. To borrow lines from a contemporary poet,
who has written but too little —
“The knights are dust,2
And their good swords are rust,
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.”
Their escutcheons have long moldered from the walls
_
’The manuscript from which Scott pretended to get the
details of his story.
2From a fragmentary poem by Coleridge.
Ivan hoe
111
of their castles. Their castles themselves are but
; green mounds and shattered ruins — the place that
once knew them, knows them no more — nay, many a
race since theirs has died out and been forgotten in
; the very land which they occupied, with all the
authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords.
What, then, would it avail the reader to know their
names, or the evanescent symbols of their martial
rank !
Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion
which awaited their names and feats, the champions
advanced through the lists, restraining their fiery
steeds and compelling them to move slowly, while, at
the same time, they exhibited their paces, together
with the grace and dexterity of the riders. As the
procession entered the lists, the sound of a wild Bar¬
baric music was heard from behind the tents of the
challengers where the performers were concealed.
It was of Eastern origin, having been brought from
the Holy Land; and the mixture of the cymbals and
bells seemed to bid welcome at once, and defiance, to
the knights as they advanced. With the eyes of an
immense concourse of spectators fixed upon them, the
five knights advanced up the platform upon which
the tents of the challengers stood, and there separa¬
ting themselves, each touched slightly, and with the
reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to
whom he wished to oppose himself. The lower order
of spectators in general— nay, many of the higher
class, and it is even said several of the ladies, were
rather disappointed at the champions choosing the
arms of courtesy. For the same sort of persons, who
in the present day applaud most highly the deepest
tragedies, were then interested in a tournament ex¬
actly in proportion to the danger incurred by the
champions engaged.
Having intimated their more specific purpose, the
112
Ivan hoe
champions retreated to the extremity of the lists,
where they remained drawn up in a line; while the
challengers, sallying each from his pavilion, mounted
their horses, and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
descended from the platform, and opposed them¬
selves individually to the knights who had touched
their respective shields.
At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they
started out against each other at full gallop; and
such was the superior dexterity or good fortune of
the challengers, that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert,
Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf, rolled on the ground,
The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing
his lance-point fair against the crest or the shield of
his enemy, swerved so much from the direct line as
to break the weapon athwart the person of his op¬
ponent — a circumstance which was accounted more
disgraceful than that of being actually unhorsed ; be¬
cause the latter might happen from accident, where¬
as the former evinced awkwardness and want of
management of the weapon and of the horse. The
fifth knight alone maintained the honor of his party,
and parted fairly with the Knight of St. John, both
splintering their lances without advantage on either
side.
The shouts of the multitude, together with the
acclamations of the heralds and the clangor of the
trumpets, announced the triumph of the victors and
the defeat of the vanquished. The former retreated
to their pavilions, and the latter, gathering them¬
selves up as they could, withdrew from the lists in
disgrace and dejection, to agree with their victors
concerning the redemption of their arms and their
horses, which, according to the laws of the tourna¬
ment, they had forfeited. The fifth of their number
alone tarried in the lists long enough to be greeted
by the applauses of the spectators, amongst whom he
IVANHOE
113
retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, of his com¬
panions’ mortification.
A second and a third party of knights took the
field; and although they had various success, yet,
upon the whole, the advantage decidedly remained
with the challengers, not one of whom lost his seat
or swerved from his charge — misfortunes which be¬
fell one or two of their antagonists in each encoun¬
ter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposed to them
seemed to be considerably damped by their continued
success. Three knights only appeared on the fourth
entry, who, avoiding the shields of Bois-Guilbert and
Front-de-Bceuf, contented themselves with touching
those of the three other knights, who had not alto¬
gether manifested the same strength and dexterity.
This politic selection did not alter the fortune of the
field, the challengers were still successful ; one of
their antagonists was overthrown, and both the oth¬
ers failed in the attaint / that is, striking the hel¬
met and shield of their antagonist firmly and strong¬
ly, with the lance held in a direct line, so that the
weapon might break unless the champion was over¬
thrown.
After this fourth encounter, there was a consider¬
able pause ; nor did it appear that any one was very
desirous of renewing the contest. The spectators
murmured among themselves; for, among the chal¬
lengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were unpopu¬
lar from their characters, and the others, except
Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers and for¬
eigners.
But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfac¬
tion so keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each
advantage gained by the Norman challengers, a re¬
peated triumph over the honor of England. His
^‘This term of chivalry, transferred to the law, gives the
phrase of being attainted of treason.” (Scott’s note).
114
IVANIIOE
own education had taught him no skill in the games
of chivalry, although, with the arms of his Saxon
ancestors, he had manifested himself, on many oc¬
casions, a brave and determined soldier. He looked
anxiously to Athelstane, who had learned the accom¬
plishments of the age, as if desiring that he should
make some personal effort to recover the victory
which was passing into the hands of the Templar and
his associates. But, though both stout of heart and
strong of person, Athelstane had a disposition too
inert and unambitious to make the exertions which
Cedric seemed to expect from him.
“The day is against England, my lord,” said Cedric
in a marked tone; “are you not tempted to take the
lance?”
“I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “in
the melee; it is not worth while for me to arm my¬
self to-day.”
Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It
contained the Norman word melee (to express the
general conflict), and it evinced some indifference to
the honor of the country; but it was spoken by Athel¬
stane, whom he held in such profound respect that he
would not trust himself to canvass his motives or
his foibles. Moreover, he had no time to make
any remark, for Wamba thrust in his word, observ¬
ing, “It was better, though scarce easier, to be
the best man among a hundred, than the best man of
two.”
Athelstane took the observation as a serious com¬
pliment; but Cedric, who better understood the
Jester’s meaning, darted at him a severe and men¬
acing look; and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps,
that the time and place prevented his receiving, not¬
withstanding his place and service, more sensible
marks of his master’s resentment.
The pause in the tournament was still uninter-
IVANHOE
115
rupted, excepting by the voices of the heralds ex¬
claiming — “Love of ladies, splintering of lances!
stand forth, gabant knights, fair eyes look upon your
deeds!”
The music also of the challengers breathed from
time to time wild bursts expressive of triumph or
(defiance, while the clowns grudged a holiday which
seemed to pass away in inactivity; and old knights
and nobles lamented in whispers the decay of martial
spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their younger days,
but agreed that the land did not now supply dames
of such transcendent beauty as had animated the
jousts of former times. Prince John began to talk
to his attendants about making ready the banquet,
and the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian
! do Bois-Gilbert, who had, with a single spear, over¬
thrown two knights, and foiled a third.
At length, as the Saracenic music of the challen-
gprr concluded one of those long and high flourishes
with which they had broken the silence of the list's, it
was answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed
a note of defiance from the northern extremity. All
eyes were turned to see the new champion which
these sounds announced, and no sooner were the bar¬
riers opened than he paced into the lists. As far as
could be judged of a man sheathed in armor, the new
adventurer did not greatly exceed the middle size,
and seemed to be rather slender than strongly made.
His suit of armour was formed of steel, richly inlaid
with gold, and the device on his shield was a young
! oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish
i word Desdichado , signifying Disinherited. He was
mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed
j through the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince
| and the ladies by lowering his lance. The dexterity
I with which he managed his steed, and something of
youthful grace which he displayed in his manner,
116
IVANHOB
won him the favor of the multitude, which some of
the lower classes expressed by calling out, ‘Touch
Ralph de Vipont’s shield — touch the Hospitaller’s
shield; he has the least sure seat, he is your cheapest
bargain.”
The champion, moving onward amid these well-
meant hints, ascended the platform by the sloping
alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the aston¬
ishment of all present, riding straight up to the
central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of his
spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until it
rung again. All stood astonished at his presumption,
but none more than the redoubted knight whom he
had thus defied to mortal combat, and who, little
expecting so rude a challenge, was standing careless¬
ly at the door of the pavilion.
“Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the
Templar, “and have you heard mass this morning,
that you peril your life so frankly?”
“I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” an¬
swered the Disinherited Knight; for by this name
the stranger had recorded himself in the books of
the tourney.
“Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-
Guilbert, “and look your last upon the sun; for this
night thou shalt sleep in paradise.”
“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disin¬
herited Knight, “and to requite it, I advise thee
to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my
honor you will need both.”
Having expressed himself thus confidently, he
reined his horse backward down the slope which he
had ascended, and compelled him in the same man¬
ner to move backward through the lists, till he
reached the northern extremity, where he remained
stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This
Question : What vow is this challenge fulfilling?
Ivan hoe
117
:eat of horsemanship again attracted the applause
)f the multitude.
j However incensed at his adversary for the pre¬
cautions which he recommended, Brian de Bois-
Guilbert did not neglect his advice; for his honor
was too nearly concerned, to permit his neglecting
any means which might insure victory over his pre¬
sumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for a
proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit.
He chose a new and tough spear, lest the wood of the
former might have been strained in the previous en¬
counters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid aside his
shield, which had received some little damage, and
received another from his squires. His first had only
borne the general device of his rider, representing
two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem ex¬
pressive of the original humility and poverty of the
Templars, qualities which they had since exchanged
for the arrogance and wealth that finally occasioned
their suppression. Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore
a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and
bearing the motto, Gave le Corbeau /
When the two champions stood opposed to each
other at the two extremities of the lists, the public
expectation was strained to the highest pitch. Few
augured the possibility that the encounter could ter¬
minate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet his
courage and gallantry secured the general good
.wishes of the spectators.
The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than
the champions vanished from their posts with the
speed of lightning, and closed in the center of the
lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances
burst into shivers up to the very grasp, and it seemed
at the moment that both knights had fallen, for the
shock had made each horse recoil backwards upon
*Beware the Raven,
118
IVANHOE
its haunches. The address of the riders recovered
their steeds by use of the bridle and spur; and having
glared on each other for an instant with eyes which
seemed to flash fire through the bars of their visors,
each made a demi-volte, and, retiring to the extrem¬
ity of the lists, received a fresh lance from the at¬
tendants.
A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs
and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations attested
the interest taken by the spectators in this encoun¬
ter; the most equal, as well as the best performed,
which had graced the day. But no sooner had the
knights resumed their station, than the clamor of ap¬
plause was hushed into a silence, so deep, and so
dead that it seemed the multitude were afraid even
to breathe.
A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that
the combatants and their horses might recover
breath, Prince John with his truncheon signed to the
trumpets to sound the onset. The champions a
second time sprung from their stations, and closed
in the center of the lists, with the same speed, the
same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same
equal fortune as before.
In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at
the center of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so
fair and forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and
the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the
other hand, that champion had, in the beginning of
his career, directed the point of his lance towards
Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, changing his aim almost
in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the
helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if
attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. Fair
and true he hit the Norman on the visor, where his
lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet even at this
disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high repu-
IVANHOE 119
Station; and had not the girths of his saddle burst,
he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced,
‘however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground
under a cloud of dust.
To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen
steed, was to the Templar scarce the work of a mo¬
ment; and, stung with madness, both at his dis¬
grace and at the acclamations with which it was
| hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and
waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Dis¬
inherited Knight sprung from his steed, and also
unsheathed his sword. The marshals of the field,
! however, spurred their horses between them, and re¬
minded them that the laws of the tournament did
not on the present occasion, permit this species of
encounter.
“We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar,
casting a resentful glance at his antagonist; “and
where there are none to separate us.”
“If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight,
“the fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback,
with spear, with ax, or with sword, I am alike ready
to encounter thee.”
More and angrier words would have been ex¬
changed, but the marshals, crossing their lances be-
I twixt them, compelled them to separate. The Disin¬
herited Knight returned to his first station, and Bois-
Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for the rest
of the day in an agony of despair.
Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror
called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver
i or lower part of his helmet, announced that he
quaffed it “To all true English hearts, and to the
confusion of foreign tyrants.” He then commanded
his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers,
and desired a herald to announce to them that he
should make no election, but was willing to en-
120
Ivan hoe
counter them in the order in which they pleased to
advance against him.
The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf,1 armed in sable armor,
was the first who took the field. He bore on
a white shield a black bull’s head, half defaced by
the numerous encounters which he had undergone,
and bearing the arrogant motto, Cave Adsum .2 Over
this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained
a slight but decisive advantage. Both knights broke
their lances fairly, but Front-de-Bceuf, who lost a
stirrup in the encounter, was adjudged to have the
disadvantage.
In the stranger’s third encounter, with Sir Philip
Mialvoisin, he was equally successful, striking that
baron so forcibly on the casque that the laces of the
helmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling
by being unhelmeted/was declared vanquished like
his companions.
In his fourth combat, with De Grantmesnil, the
Disinherited Knight showed as much courtesy as
he had hitherto evinced courage and dexterity.
De Grantmesnil’s horse, which was young and vio¬
lent, reared and plunged in the course of the career
so as to disturb the rider’s aim, and the stranger,
declining to take the advantage which this accident
afforded him, raised his lance and passing his an¬
tagonist without touching him, wheeled his horse
and rode back again to his own end of the lists, offer¬
ing his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a sec¬
ond encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined ^vow¬
ing himself vanquished as much by the courtesy as
by the address of his opponent.
Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stran¬
ger’s triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such
'Head of the bull (literally).
'Beware! I aiu present.
IVANHOE
121
force that the blood gushed from his nose and mouth,
and he was borne senseless from the lists.
The acclamations of thousands applauded the
unanimous award of the Prince and marshals, an¬
nouncing that day’s honors to the Disinherited
Knight.
CHAPTER IX
- In the midst was seen
A lady of a more majestic mien,
By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen.
* * *
And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir,
So nobler than the rest was her attire ;
A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow,
Plain without pomp, and rich without a show;
A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand,
She bore aloft her symbol of command.
The Flower and the Leaf.
William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, the
marshals of the field, were the first to offer their con¬
gratulations to the victor, praying him, at the same
time, to suffer his helmet to be unlaced, or, at least,
that he would raise his visor ere they conducted him
to receive the prize of the day’s tourney from the
hands of Prince John. The Disinherited Knight,
with all knightly courtesy, declined their request,
alleging that he could not at this time suffer his face
to be seen, for reasons which he had assigned to the
heralds when he entered the lists. The marshals
were perfectly satisfied by this reply; for amidst
the frequent and capricious vows by which knights
were accustomed to bind themselves in the days of
chivalry, there were none more common than those
by which they engaged to remain incognito for a cer¬
tain space, or until some particular adventure was
achieved. The marshals, therefore, pressed no far¬
ther into the mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but,
announcing to Prince John the conqueror’s desire to
remain unknown, they requested permission to bring
him before his Grace, in order that he might receive
the reward of his valor.
John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery ob-
IVANHOE
123
served by the stranger; and, being already displeased
with the issue of the tournament, in which the chal¬
lengers whom he favored had been successively de¬
feated by one knight, he answered haughtily to the
marshals :
“By the light of Our Lady’s brow,1 this same
knight hath been disinherited as well of his courtesy
as of his lands, since he desires to appear before us
without uncovering his face. — Wot ye,2 my lords,” he
said, turning round to his train, “who this gallant
can be, that bears himself thus proudly?”
“I cannot guess/’ answered De Bracy, “nor did
I think there had been within the four seas that
girth Britain a champion that could bear down these
five knights in one day’s jousting. By my faith, I
shall never forget the force with which he shocked
De Vipont. The poor Hospitaller was hurled from
his saddle like a stone from a sling.”
“Boast not of that,” said a Knight of St. John,
who was present; “your Temple champion had no
better luck. I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert,
roll thrice over, grasping his hands full of sand at
every turn.”
De Bracy being attached to the Templars, would
have replied, but was prevented by Prince John.
“Silence, sirs!” he said; “what unprofitable de¬
bate have we here?”
“The victor,” said De Wyvil, “still waits the pleas¬
ure of your Highness.”
“It is our pleasure,” answered John, “that he do
so wait until we learn whether there is not some one
who can at least guess at his name and quality.
Should he remain there till nightfall, he has had
enough work to keep him warm.”
Virgin Mary.
2Know ye.
124
Ivan hoe
“Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “will do
less than due honor to the victor, if you compel him
to wait till we tell your Highness that which we
cannot know; at least I can form no guess — unless he
be one of the good lances who accompanied King
Richard of Palestine, and who are now straggling
homeward from the Holy Land.”
“It may be the Earl of Salisbury,” said De Bracy;
“he is about the same pitch.”
“Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland,
rather,” said Fitzurse; “Salisbury is bigger in the
bones.” A whisper arose among the train, but by
whom first suggested could not be ascertained. “It
might be the King — it might be Richard Cceur-de-
Lion himself!”
“Over God’s forbode!” said Prince John, involun¬
tarily turning at the same time as pale as death,
and shrinking as if blighted by a flash of lightning;
“Waldemar! — De Bracy! brave knights and gentle¬
men, remember your promises, and stand truly by
me!”
“Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar
Fitzurse; “are you so little acquainted with the
gigantic limbs of your father’s son as to think they
can be held within the circumference of yonder suit
of armor? — De Wyvil and Martival, you will best
serve the Prince by bringing forward the victor to
the throne, and ending an error that has conjured
all the blood from his cheeks. — Look at him more
closely,” he continued; “your Highness will see that
he wants three inches of King Richard’s height and
twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. The very
horse he backs could not have carried the ponderous
weight of King Richard through a single course.”
While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought
forward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a
wooden flight of steps, which formed the ascent
IVANHOE
125
from the lists to Prince John’s throne. Still dis¬
composed with the idea that his brother, so much
injured, and to whom he was so much indebted,
had suddenly arrived in his native kingdom, even
the distinctions pointed out by Fitzurse did not
altogether remove the Prince’s apprehensions; and
while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy upon
his valor, he caused to be delivered to him the war-
horse assigned as the prize, he trembled lest from the
barred visor of the mailed form before him an an¬
swer might be returned, in the deep and awful ac¬
cents of Richard the Lion-hearted.
But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in
reply to the compliment of the Prince, which he
only acknowledged with a profound obeisance.
The horse was led into the lists by two grooms
richly dressed, the animal itself being fully accou¬
tered with the richest war-furniture; which, how¬
ever, scarcely added to the value of the noble crea¬
ture in the eyes of those who were judges. Laying
one hand upon the pommel of the saddle, the Disin¬
herited Knight vaulted at once upon the back of the
steed without making use of the stirrup, and brand¬
ishing aloft his lance, rode twice around the lists, ex¬
hibiting the points and paces of the horse with the
skill of a perfect horseman.
The appearance of vanity, which might otherwise
have been attributed to this display, was removed by
the propriety shown in exhibiting to the best advan¬
tage the princely reward with which he had been just
honored, and the Knight was again greeted by the
acclamations of all present.
In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx
had reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the
victor must now display his good judgment, instead
of his valor, by selecting from among the beauties
who graced the galleries a lady, who should fill the
126
Ivan hoe
throne of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, and de¬
liver the prize of the tourney upon the ensuing day.
The Prince accordingly made a sign with his trunch¬
eon, as the Knight passed him in his second career
round the lists. The Knight turned towards the
throne, and, sinking his lance, until the point was
within a foot of the ground, remained motionless, as
if expecting John’s command: while all admired the
sudden dexterity with which he instantly reduced his
fiery steed from a state of violent emotion and high
excitation to the stillness of an equestrian statue.
“Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John,
“since that is the only title by which we can address
you, it is now your duty, as well as privilege, to name
the fair lady, who, as Queen of Honor and of Love,
is to preside over next day’s festival. If, as a
stranger in our land, you should require the aid of
other judgment to guide your own, we can only say
that Alicia, the daughter of our gallant knight Wal-
demar Fitzurse, has at our court been long held the
first in beauty as in place. Nevertheless, it is your
undoubted prerogative to confer on whom you please
this crown, by the delivery of which to the lady of
your choice, the election of to-morrow’s Queen will
be formal and complete. — Raise your lance.”
The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon
its point a coronet of green satin, having around its
edge a circle of gold, the upper edge of which was
relieved by arrow-points and hearts placed inter¬
changeably, like the strawberry leaves and balls upon
a ducal crown.
In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the
daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than
one motive, each the offspring of a mind which was a
strange mixture of carelessness and presumption
with low artifice and cunning. He wished to banish
from the minds of the chivalry around him his own
IVANHOE
127
■ #
^indecent and unacceptable jest respecting the Jewess
Rebecca; he was desirous of conciliating Alicia’s
father Waldemar, of whom he stood in awe, and who
had more than once shown himself dissatisfied dur¬
ing the course of the day’s proceedings. He had also
a wish to establish himself in the good graces of the
lady; for John was at least as licentious in his
! pleasures as profligate in his ambition. But besides
j all these reasons he was desirous to raise up against
the Disinherited Knight (towards whom he already
entertained a strong dislike) a powerful enemy in
the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, who was likely,
he thought, highly to resent the injury done to his
daughter, in case, as was not unlikely, the victor
should make another choice.
And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited
Knight passed the gallery close to that of the Prince,
in which the Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride
of triumphant beauty, and, pacing forwards as slow¬
ly as he had hitherto rode swiftly around the lists,
! he seemed to exercise his right of examining the
| numerous fair faces which adorned that splendid
circle.
It was worth while to see the different conduct of
| the beauties who underwent tjlis examination., during
I the time it was proceeding. Some blushed, some
assumed an air of pride and dignity, some looked
straight forward, and essayed to seem utterly uncon¬
scious of what was going on, some drew back in
alarm, which was perhaps affected, some endeavored
to forbear smiling, and there were two or three who
laughed outright. There were also some who
dropped their veils over their charms, but as the
Wardour Manuscript says these fair ones of ten
years’ standing, it may be supposed that, having had
their full share of such vanities, they were willing
128
Ivan hoe
to withdraw their claim, in order to give a fair
chance to the rising beauties of the age.
At length the champion paused beneath the bal¬
cony in which the Lady Rowena was placed, and
the expectation of the spectators was excited to the
utmost.
It must be owned, that if an interest displayed in
his success could have bribed the Disinherited
Knight, the part of the list before which he paused
had merited his predilection. Cedric the Saxon, over¬
joyed at the discomfiture of the Templar, and still
more so at the miscarriage of his two malevolent
neighbors, Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with
his body half stretched over the balcony, accompa¬
nied the victor in each course, not with his eyes only,
but with his whole heart and soul. The Lady Rowena
had watched the progress of the day with equal at¬
tention, though without openly betraying the same
intense interest. Even the unmoved Athelstane had
shown symptoms of shaking off his apathy, when,
calling for a huge goblet of Muscadine, he quaffed it
to the health of the Disinherited Knight.
Another group, stationed under the gallery oc¬
cupied by the Saxons, had shown no less interest in
the fate of the day. «
“Father Abraham!” said Isaac of York, when the
first course was run betwixt the Templar and the
Disinherited Knight. “How fiercely that Gentile
rides! Ah, the good horse that was brought all the
long way from Barbary, he takes no more care of him
than if he were a wild ass’s colt— and the noble
armor, that was worth so many zecchins to Joseph
Pareira, the armorer of Milan, besides seventy in the
hundred of profits, he cares for it as little as if he
had found it in the highways!”
“If he risks his own person and limbs, father,”
IVANHOE
129
said Rebecca, “in doing such a dreadful battle, he
can scarce be expected to spare his horse and armor ”
“Child !” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “thou
knowest not what thou speakest. — His neck and limbs
are his own, but his horse and armour belong to — -
Holy Jacob! what was I about to say! — Nevertheless,
it is a good youth. — See, Rebecca! see, he is again
! about to go up to battle against the Philistine.1 Pray,
child— pray for the safety of the good youth,— and
of the speedy horse, and the rich armor. — God of
my fathers!” he again exclaimed, “he hath con¬
quered, and the uncircumcised Philistine hath fallen
before his lance,— even as Og,2 the King of Bashan,
and Sihon, King of the Amorites, fell before the
sword of our fathers! — Surely he shall take their
gold and their silver, and their war-horses, and
their armor of brass and of steel, for a prey and
for a spoil.”
The same anxiety did the worthv Jew display dur¬
ing every course that was run, seldom failing to haz¬
ard a hasty calculation concerning the value of the
horse and armor which were forfeited to the cham¬
pion upon each new success. There had been there¬
fore no small interest taken in the success of the
Disinherited Knight, by those who occupied the part
of the lists before which he now paused.
Whether from indecision or some other motive
of hesitation, the champion of the day remained sta-
tionarv for more than a minute, while the eyes of
the silent audience was riveted upon his motions;
and then, gradually and gracefully sinking the point
of his lance, he deposited the coronet which it sup-
1 Always an enemy of the Jew in Palestine in Bible times.
2King of Bashan. Numbers XXI. 21-35 ; Dent. Ill, 1-13.
Question : Why was Isaac especially interested in the
conduct of the Disinherited Knight?
130
IVANHOE
ported at the feet of the fair Rowena. The trumpets
instantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the
Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of Love for
the ensuing day, menacing with suitable penalties
those who should be disobedient to her authority.
They then repeated the cry of Largesse, to which
Cedric, in the height of his joy, replied by an am¬
ple donative, and to which Athelstane, though less
promptly, added one equally large.
There was some murmuring among the damsels of
Norman descent, who were as much unused to see
the preference given to a Saxon beauty as the Nor¬
man nobles were to sustain defeat in the games of
chivalry which they themselves had introduced. But
these sounds of disaffection were drowned by the
popular shout of “Long live the Lady Rowena, the
chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty!’5
To which many in the lower area added, “Long live
the Saxon Princess! long live the race of the im¬
mortal Alfred!”
However unacceptable these sounds might be to
Prince John, and to those around him, he saw him¬
self nevertheless obliged to confirm the nomination
of the victor, and accordingly calling to horse, he
left his throne; and mounting his jennet, accompa¬
nied by his train, he again entered the lists. The
Prince paused a moment beneath the gallery of Lady
Alicia, to whom he paid his compliments observing
at the same time, to those around him — “By my hali
dom, sirs ! if the Knight’s feats in arms have showr
that he hath limbs and sinews, his choice hath nc
less proved that his eyes are none of the clearest!”
It was on this occasion, as during his whole life
John’s misfortune, not perfectly to understand the
characters of those whom he wished to conciliate
Waldemar Fitzurse was rather offended than pleasec
IVANHOE
131
at the Prince stating thus broadly an opinion that
his daughter had been slighted.
“I know no right of chivalry,” he said, “more
precious or inalienable than that of each free knight
jto choose his ladylove by his own judgment. My
daughter courts distinction from no one; and in her
own character, and in her own sphere, will never fail
to receive the full proportion of that which is her
due.”
Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse,
as if to give vent to his vexation, he made the animal
bound forward to the gallery where Rowena was
seated, with the crown still at her feet.
“Assume,” he said, “fair lady, the mark of your
Sovereignty, to which none vows homage more sin¬
cerely than ourself, John of Anjou ; and if it please
>mu to-day, with your noble sire and friends, to grace
our banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to
know the empress to whose service we devote to¬
morrow.”
Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for
her in his native Saxon.
“The Lady Rowena,” he said, “possesses not the
language in which to reply to your courtesy, or to
sustain her part in your festival. I also, and the
noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh, speak only the
language, and practice only the manners, of our
fathers. We therefore decline with thanks your
Highness’s courteous invitation to the banquet. To¬
morrow, the Lady Rowena will take upon her the
state to which she has been called by the free elec¬
tion of the victor Knight confirmed by the acclama¬
tions of the people.”
So saying, he lifted the coronet, and placed it upon
Rowena’s head, in token of her acceptance of the
temporary authority assigned to her.
“What says he?” said Prince John, affecting not
132
Ivan hoe
to understand the Saxon language, in which, howev
er, he was well skilled. The purport of Cedric’
speech was repeated to him in French. “It is well,
he said ; “to-morrow we will ourself conduct thi
mute sovereign to her seat of dignity. — You, at leasl
Sir Knight,” he added, turning to the victor, who hai
remained near the gallery, “will this day share ou
banquet?”
The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a lo^
and hurried voice, excused himself by pleading fa
tigue, and the necessity of preparing for to-moi
row’s encounter.
“It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily; “althoug
unused to such refusals, we will endeavor to diges
our banquet as we may, though ungraced by the mos
successful in arms, and his elected Queen of Beauty.
So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with hi
glittering train, and his, turning his steed for tha
purpose, was the signal for the breaking up an
dispersion of the spectators.
Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to o:
fended pride, especially when combined with consc
ous want of desert, John had hardly proceeded thre
paces, ere again, turning around, he fixed an eye c
stern resentment upon the yeoman who had di:
pleased him in the early part of the day, and issue
his commands to the men-at-arms who stood near.-
“On your life, suffer not that fellow to escape.”
The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Princ
with the same unvaried steadiness which had marke
his former deportment saying, with a smile, “I ha^
no intention to leave Ashby until the day after t
morrow. — I must see how Staffordshire and Leice
tershire can draw their bows — the forests of Nee
wood and Charnwood must rear good archers.”
“I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but n
in direct reply, “I will see how he can draw h
I
IVANHOE
IBS
wn; and woe betide him unless his skill should
^rove some apology for his insolence V*
| “It is full time/’ said De Bracy, “that the out -
\ecuidance 1 of these peasants should be restrained
>y some striking example.”
Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his pa-
ron was not taking the readiest road to popularity,
hrugged up his shoulders and was silent. Prince
ohn resumed his retreat from the lists, and the
lispersion of the multitude became general.
In various routes, according to the different quar-
ers from which they came, and in groups of vari¬
ous numbers, the spectators were seen retiring over
he plain. By far the most numerous part streamed
owards the town of Ashby, where many of the dis-
inguished persons were lodged in the castle, and
vhere others found accommodation in the town it¬
self. Among these were most of the knights who
lad already appeared in the tournament, or who
moposed to fight there the ensuing day, and who,
is they rode slowly along, talking over the events
)f the day, were greeted with loud shouts by the
mpulace. The same acclamations were bestowed up-
>n Prince John, although he was indebted for them
•ather to the splendor of his appearance and train
,han to the popularity of his character.
A more sincere and more general as well as a
3etter-merited acclamation, attended the victor of
the day, until, anxious to withdraw himself from
popular notice, he accepted the accommodation of
Dne of those pavilions pitched at the extremities of
the lists, the use of which was courteously tendered
him by the marshals of the field. On his. retiring to
his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, to look
“Presumption ; Insolence” — Scott.
134
Ivan hoe
upon and form conjectures concerning him, also dis¬
persed.
The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse
of men lately crowded together in one place, and
agitated by the same passing events, were now ex¬
changed for the distant hum of voices of different
groups retreating in all directions, and these speed¬
ily died away in silence. No other sounds were heard
save the voices of the menials who stripped the gal¬
leries of their cushions and tapestry, in order to put
them in safety for the night, and wrangled among
themselves for the half-used bottles of wine and
relics of the refreshment which had been served
round to the spectators.
Beyond the precincts of the lists more .than one ,
forge was erected; and these now began to glimmer
through the twilight, announcing the toil of the ar¬
morers, which was to continue through the whole
night in order to repair or alter the suits of armor to
be used again on the morrow.
A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at in¬
tervals, from two hours to two hours, surrounded
the lists, and kept watch during the night.
CHAPTER X
Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ;
Vex’d and tormented, runs poor Barabbas,
!With fatal curses towards these Christians,
Jew of Malta.
The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached
iis pavilion than squires and pages in abundance
eridered their services to disarm him, to bring fresh
ittire, and to offer him the refreshment of the bath.
Their zeal, on this occasion, was perhaps sharpened
>y curiosity, since every one desired to know who the
[night was that had gained so many laurels, yet had
*efused, even at the command of Prince John, to
ift his visor or to name his name. But their officious
nquisitiveness was not gratified. The Disinherited
Cnight refused all other assistance save that of his
»wn squire, or rather yeoman — a clownish-looking
nan, who, wrapt in a cloak of dark-colored felt, and
laving his head and face half-buried in a Norman
jonnet made of black fur, seemed to affect the incog-
lito as much as his master. All others being ex¬
cluded from the tent, this attendant relieved his
naster from the more burdensome parts of his ar-
nor, and placed food and wine before him, which the
exertions of the day rendered very acceptable.
The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal, ere
iis menial announced to him that five men. each lead¬
ing a barbed steed, desired to speak with him. The
Disinherited Knight had exchanged his armor for
:he long robe usually worn by those of his condition,
which, being furnished with a hood, concealed the
features, when such was the pleasure of the wearer,
ilmost as completely as the visor of the helmet itself ;
136
I VAN HOE
but the twilight, which was now fast darkening,
would of itself have rendered a disguise unneces¬
sary, unless to persons to whom the face of an indi¬
vidual chanced to be particularly well known.
The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly
forth to the front of his tent, and found in attend¬
ance the squires of the challengers, whom he easily
knew by their russet and black dresses, each of
whom led his master’s charger, loaded with the ar¬
mor in which he had that day fought.
‘‘According to the laws of chivalry,” said the fore¬
most of these men, “I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to
the redoubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make
offer to you, styling yourself, for the present, the
Disinherited Knight, of the horse and armor used
by the said Brian de Bois-Guilbert in this day’s Pas¬
sage of Arms, leaving it with your nobleness to
obtain or to ransom the same, according to your
pleasure; for such is the law of arms.”
The other squires repeated nearly the same for¬
mula, and then stood to await the decision of the
Disinherited Knight.
“To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing
those who had last spoken, “and to your honorable
and valiant masters, I have one common reply. Com¬
mend me to the noble knights, your masters; and
say I should do ill to deprive them of steeds and arms
which can never be used by braver cavaliers. — I
would I could here end my message to these gallant
knights; but being, as I term myself, in truth and
earnest, the Disinherited, I must be thus far bound
to your masters, that they will, of their courtesy, be
pleased to ransom their steeds and armor, since that
which I wear I can hardly term mine own.”
“We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered
the squire of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, “to offer a
IVANHOE
187
hundred zecchins in ransom of these horses and suits
of armor.”
“It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight,
“Half the sum my present necessities compel me to
accept; of the remaining half, distribute one moiety
among yourselves, sir squires, and divide the other
half betwixt the heralds and the pursuivants, and
minstrels, and attendants.”
The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences,
expressed their deep sense of a courtesy and gen¬
erosity not often practiced, at least upon a scale so
extensive. The Disinherited Knight then addressed
his discourse to Baldwin, the squire of Brian de
Bois-Guilbert. “From your master,” said he, “I will
accept neither arms nor ransom. Say to him in my
name, that our strife is not ended — no, not till we
have fought as well with swords as with lances —
as well on foot as on horseback. To this mortal
quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shall not
forget the challenge.— Meantime, let him be assured
that I hold him not as one of his companions, with
whom I can with pleasure exchange courtesies; but
rather as one with whom I stand upon terms of mor¬
tal defiance.”
“My master,” answered Baldwin, “knows how to
requite scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as
well as courtesy with courtesy. Since you disdain to
accept from him any share of the ransom at which
you have rated the arms of the other knights, I must
leave his armor and his horSe here, being well as¬
sured that he will never deign to mount the one or
wear the other.”
“You have spoken well, good Squire, said the
Disinherited Knight, “well and boldly, as it be-
seemeth him to speak who answers for an absent
master. Leave not, however, the horse and armor
here. Restore them to thy master, or, if he scorns
138
Ivan hoe
to accept them, retain them, good friend, for thine
own use. So far as they are mine, I bestow them
upon you freely.”
Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with
his companions; and the Disinherited Knight en¬
tered the pavilion.
“Thus far, Gurth,” said he addressing his at¬
tendant, “the reputation of English chivalry hath
not suffered in my hands.”
“And I,” said Gurth, “for a Saxon swineherd, have
not ill played the personage of a Norman squire-at-
arms.”
“Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight,
“thou hast ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish
bearing should discover thee.”
“Tush!” said Gurth, “I fear discovery from none,
saving my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom
I could never discover whether he were most knave
or fool. Yet I could scarce choose but to laugh, when
my old master passed so near to me, dreaming all the
while that Gurth was keeping his porkers many a
mile off, in the thickets and swamps of Rotherwood.
If I am discovered - ”
“Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “thou
knowest my promise.”
“Nay, for that matter,” said Gurth. “I will never
fail my friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have
a tough hide, that will bear knife or scourge as well
as any boar's hide in my herd.”
“Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my
love, Gurth,” said the Knight. “Meanwhile, I pray
you to accept these ten pieces of gold.”
“I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his
pouch, “than ever was swineherd or bondsman.”
“Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his
master, “and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let
him pay himself for the horse and arms with which
IVANHOE
139
his credit supplied me.”
“Nay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “that I will
not do.”
“How, knave,” replied his master, “wilt thou not
obey my commands?”
“So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian com¬
mands,” replied Gurth; “but this is none of these.
| To suffer the Jew to pay himself would be dishonest,
! for it would be cheating my master; and unreason¬
able, for it were the part of a fool; and unchristian,
since it would be plundering a believer to enrich an
infidel.”
! “See him contented, however, thou stubborn var-
II let.” said the Disinherited Knight.
“I will do sc,” said Gurth, taking the bag under
his cloak and leaving the apartment; “and it will
go hard,” he muttered, “but I content him with one-
half of his own asking.” So saying, he departed, and
left the Disinherited Knight to his own perplexed
ruminations; which, upon more accounts than it is
now possible to communicate to the reader, were of a
nature peculiarly agitating and painful.
We must now change the scene to the village of
Ashby, or rather to a country house in its vicinity
belonging to a wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac,
his daughter, and retinue had taken up their quar¬
ters; the Jews, it is well known, being as liberal in
exercising the duties of hospitality and charity
among their own people, as they were alleged to be
reluctant and churlish in extending them to those
whom they termed Gentiles, and whose treatment of
them certainly merited little hospitality at their
hand.
In an apartment, small indeed, but richly fur¬
nished with decorations of an Oriental taste, Re¬
becca was seated on a heap of embroidered cuSh-
140
IVANHOE
ions, which, piled along a low platform that sur¬
rounded the chamber, served, like the estrada of
the Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. She
was watching the motions of her father with a look
of anxious and filial affection, while he paced the
apartment with a dejected mien and disordered
step; sometimes clasping his hands together — some¬
times casting his eyes to the roof of the apart¬
ment, as one who labored under great mental
tribulation. “0 Jacob !” he exclaimed — “0 all ye
twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe! what a losing
venture is this for one who hath duly kept every
jot and tittle of the law of Moses. — Fifty zecchins
wrenched from me at one clutch, and by the talons
of a tyrant !”
“But, father,” said Rebecca, “you seemed to give
the gold to Prince John willingly.”
“Willingly? The blotch of Egypt upon him!--
Willingly, saidst thou? — Ay, as willingly as when,
in the Gulf of Lyons, I flung over my merchandise
to lighten the ship, while she labored in the temp¬
est — robed the seething billows in my choice silks —
perfumed their briny foam with myrrh and aloes —
enriched their caverns with gold and silver work!
And was not that an hour of unutterable misery,
though my own hand made the sacrifice?”
“But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to
save our lives,” answered Rebecca, “and the God
of our fathers has since blessed your store and
your gettings.”
“Ay,” answered Isaac, “but if the tyrant lays
hold on them as he did to-day, and compels me to
smile while he is robbing me? — 0 daughter, disin¬
herited and wandering as we are, the worst evil
which befalls our race is, that when we are wronged
and plundered, all the world laughs around, and
Ivan hoe
141
we are compelled to suppress our sense of injury,
and to smile tamely, when we would revenge brave¬
ly”
“Think not thus of it, my father,” said Rebecca;
“we also have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel
and oppressive as they are, are in some sort de¬
pendent on the dispersed children of Zion, whom
they despise and persecute. Without the aid of our
wealth, they could neither furnish forth their hosts
in war, nor their triumphs in peace; and the gold
which we lend them returns with increase to our
coffers. We are like the herb which flourished
most when it is most trampled on. Even this day’s
pageant had not proceeded without the consent of
the despised Jew, who furnished the means.”
“Daughter,” said Isaac, “thou hast harped upon
another string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the
rich armor equal to the full profit of my adventure
with our Kirjath Jairam of Leicester — there is a
dead loss too— ay, a loss which swallows up the
gains of a week; ay, of the space between two Sab¬
baths — and yet it may end better than I now think,
for ’tis a good youth.”
“Assuredly,” said Rebecca, “you shall not re¬
pent you of requiting the good deed received of
the stranger knight.”
“I trust so daughter,” said Isaac, “and I trust
too in the rebuilding of Zion; but as well do I
hope with my own bodily eyes to see the walls
and battlements of the new Temple, as to see a
Christian, yea, the very best of Christians, repay
a debt to a Jew, unless under the awe of the judge
and jailer.”
So saying, he resumed his discontented walk
through the apartment; and Rebecca, perceiving
that her attempts at consolation only served to
142
IVANHOE
awaken new subjects of complaint, wisely desisted
from her unavailing efforts — a prudential line of
conduct, and we recommend to all who set up for
comforters and advisers, to follow it in the like cir¬
cumstances.
The evening was now becoming dark, when a
Jewish servant entered the apartment, and placed
upon the table two silver lamps, fed with perfumed
oil; the richest wines, and the most delicate re¬
freshments were at the same time displayed by
another Israelitish domestic on a small ebony table,
inlaid with silver; for, in the interior of their
houses, the Jews refused themselves no expensive
indulgences. At the same time the servant informed
Isaac that a Nazarene (so they termed Christians,
while conversing among themselves) desired to
speak with him. He that would live by traffic,
must hold himself at the disposal of every one
claiming business with him. Isaac at once replaced
on the table the untasted glass of Greek wine which
he had just raised to his lips, and saying hastily
to his daughter, “Rebecca, veil thyself,” command¬
ed the stranger to be admitted.
Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine feat¬
ures a screen of silver gauze which reached to her
feet, the door opened, and Gurth entered, wrapt
in the ample folds of his Norman mantle. His ap¬
pearance was rather suspicious than prepossessing,
especially as, instead of doffing his bonnet, he
pulled it still deeper over his rugged brow.
“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York?” said Gurth,
in Saxon.
“I am” replied Isaac, in the same language (for
his traffic had rendered every tongue spoken in
Britain familiar to him) — “and who art thou?”
“That is not to the purpose/” answered Gurth,
IVANHOE
143
“As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac;
“for without knowing thine, how can I hold inter¬
course with thee?”
“Easily,” aswered Gurth ; “I, being to pay money,
must know that I deliver it to the right person;
thou, who art to receive it, will not, I think, care
very greatly by whose hands it is delivered.”
“0,” said the Jew, “you are come to pay moneys?
Holy Father Abraham! that altereth our relation to
each other. And from whom dost thou bring it?”
“From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth,
“victor in this day’s tournament. It is the price
of the armor supplied to him by Kirjath Jairam of
Leicester, on thy recommendation. The steed is
restored to thy stable. I desire to know the amount
of the sum which I am to pay for the armor.”
“I said he was a good youth!” exclaimed Isaac,
with joyful exultation. “A cup of wine will do
thee no harm,” he added, filling and handing to the
swineherd a richer draught than Gurth had ever
before tasted. “And how much money,” continued
Isaac, “hast thou brought with thee?”
“Holy Virgin!” said Gurth, setting down the cup,
“what nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while
true Christians are fain to quaff ale as muddy and
thick as the draff we give to hogs! — What money
have I brought with me?” continued the Saxon,
when he had finished this uncivil ejaculation, “even
but a small sum; something in hand the whilst.
What, Isaac! thou must bear a conscience, though
it be a Jewish one.”
“Nay, but,” said Isaac, “thy master has won
goodly steeds and rich armors with the strength of
his lance, and of his right hand — but ’tis a good
Question ; How do you account for the change in Gurth?
144
Ivan hoe
youth — the Jew will take these in present payment,
and render him back the surplus.”
“My master has disposed of them already,” said
Gurth.
“Ah! that was wrong,” said the Jew, “that was
the part of a fool. No Christian here could buy so
many horses and armor — no Jew except myself
would give him half the values. But thou hast a
hundred zecchins with thee in that bag,” said
Isaac, prying under Gurth’s cloak,; “it is a heavy
one.”
“I have heads for crossbow bolts in it,” said
Gurth, readily.
“Well, then,” said Isaac, panting and hesitating
between habitual love of gain and a new-born de¬
sire to be liberal in the present instance, “if I
should say that I would take eighty zecchins for the
good steed and the rich armor, which leaves me not
a guilder’s profit, have you money to pay me!’'
“Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded
was more reasonable than he expected, “and it will
leave my master nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if
such be your least offer, I must be content.”
“Fill thyself another goblet of wine,” said the
Jew. “Ah, eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth
no profit for the usages of the moneys; and, be¬
sides, the good horse may have suffered wrong in
this day’s encounter. 0, it was a hard and a dan¬
gerous meeting! man and steed rushing on each
other like wild bulls of Bashan!1 The horse cannot
but have had wrong.”
“And I say,” replied Gurth, “he is sound, wind
and limb; and you may see him now, in your stable.
And I say, over and above, that seventy zecchins is
enough for the armor, and I hope a Christian’s
'Psalm XXII.
IVANHOE
145
word is as good as a Jew’s. If you will not take
seventy, I will carry this bag” (and he shook it
til the contents jingled) “back to my master.”
“Nay, nay!” said Isaac; “lay down the talents
— the shekels — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt
see I will consider thee liberally.”
Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty
zecchins upon the table, the Jew delivered out to
him an acquittance for the horse and suit of armor.
The Jew’s hand trembled for joy as he wrapped up
the first seventy pieces of gold. The last ten he
told over with much deliberation, pausing, and say¬
ing something as he took each piece from the table,
and dropt it into his purse. It seemed as if his
avarice were struggling with his better nature, and
compelling him to pouch zecchin after zecchin,
while his generosity urged him to restore some
part at least to his benefactor, or as a donation to
his agent. His whole speech ran nearly thus:
“Seventy-one — seventy-two; thy master is a good
youth — seventy-three, an excellent youth — seventy-
four — that piece hath been dipt within the ring;1
seventy-five — and that looketh light of weight — sev¬
enty-six — when thy master wants money, let him
come to Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that is, with
reasonable security.” Here he made a considerable
pause, and Gurth had good hope that the last three
pieces might escape the fate of their comrades;
but the enumeration proceeded — “seventy-eight—
thou are a good fellow — seventy-nine — and deserv-
est something for thyself — ”
Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the
last zecchin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon
Gurth. He weighed it upon the tip of his finger,
and made it ring by dropping it upon the table. Had
Smaller in circumference than should he.
146
IVANHOE
it rung too flat, or had it felt a hair’s breadth too
light, generosity had carried the day; but, unhap¬
pily for Gurth, the chime was full and true, the
zecchin plump, newly coined, and a grain above
weight. Isaac could not find in his heart to part
with it, so dropt it into his purse as if in absence of
mind, with the words, “Eighty completes the tale,
and I trust thy master will reward thee handsomely.
— Surely,” he added, looking earnestly at the bag,
“thou hast more coins in that pouch?”
Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach
to a laugh, as he replied, “About the same quantity
which thou hast just told over so carefully.” He
then folded the quittance, and put it under his cap,
adding, — “Peril of thy beard,, Jew, see that this
be full and ample!” He filled himself, unbidden, a
third goblet of wine, and left the apartment with¬
out ceremony.
“Rebecca,” said the Jew, “that Ishmaelite hath
gone somewhat beyond me. Nevertheless his master
is a good youth — ay, and I am well pleased that he
hath gained shekels of gold and shekels of silver,
even by the speed of his horse and by the strength
of his lance, which, like that of Goliath1, the Phili¬
stine, might vie with a weaver’s beam.”
As he turned to receive Rebecca’s answer, he ob¬
served, that during his chaffering with Gurth, she
had left the apartment unperceived.
In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair
and, having reached the dark antechamber or hall
was puzzling about to discover the entrance, when a
figure in white, shown by a small silver lamp whict
she held in her hand, beckoned him into a side
apartment. Gurth had some reluctance to obey the
summons. Rough and impetuous as a wild boar
’I Samuel XVII, 4-54.
IVANHOE
147
where only earthly force was to be apprehended, he
had all the characteristic terrors of a Saxon respect¬
ing fauns, forest-fiends, white women, and the whole
| of the superstitions which his ancestors had brought
with them from the wilds of Germany. He remem¬
bered, moreover, that he was in the house of a Jew,
a people who, besides the other unamiable qualities
• which popular report ascribed to them, were sup¬
posed to be profound necromancers and cabalists.
Nevertheless, after a moment’s pause, he obeyed the
! beckoning summons of the apparition, and followed
her into the apartment which she indicated, where
he found to his joyful surprise that his fair guide
was the beautiful Jewess whom he had seen at the
tournament, and a short time in her father’s apart¬
ment.
She asked him the particulars of his transaction
with Isaac, which he detailed accurately,
i “My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,”
said Rebecca; “he owes thy master deeper kindness
than these arms and steed could pay. were their
value tenfold. What sum didst thou pay my father
|| even now?”
“Eighty zecchms,” said Gurth, surprised at the
I question.
“In this purse,” said Rebecca, “thou wilt find a
hundred. Restore to thy master that which is his
due, and enrich thyself with the remainder. Haste
— begone — stay not to render thanks! and beware
how you pass through this crowded town, where
thou mayst easily lose both thy burden and thy life.
1 —Reuben,” she added, clapping her hands together,
“light forth this stranger, and fail not to draw lock
and bar behind him.”
Reuben, a dark-browed and black-bearded Israel¬
ite, obeyed her summons, with a torch in his hand;
148
Ivan hoe
undid the outward door of the house, and conduct¬
ing Gurth across a paved court, let him out through
a wicket in the entrance-gate, which he closed be¬
hind him with such bolts and chains as would well
have become that of a prison.
“By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up
the dark avenue, “this is no Jewess, but an angel
from heaven! Ten zecchins from my brave young
master — twenty from this pearl of Zion — Oh, happy
day! — Such another, Gurth, will redeem thy bond¬
age, and make thee a brother as free of thy guild as
the best. And then do I lay down my swineherd’s
horn and staff, and take the freeman’s sword and
buckler, and follow my young master to the death,
without hiding either my face or my name.”
CHAPTER XI
1st Outlaw. Stand, Sip, and throw us that you have about
^ou. If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you.
Speed. /Sir, we are undone! these are the villains
That all travelers do fear so much.
Val. My friends, —
1st Out. That’s not so, sir, we are your enemies.
2d Out. Peace ! we’U hear him.
3 d Out. Ay, by my beard, will we;
For he’s a proper man.
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
1 The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet
concluded; indeed, he himself became partly of that
mind, when, after passing one or two straggling
; houses which stood in the outskirts of the village,
he found himself in a deep lane, running between
two banks overgrown with hazel and holly, while
here and there a dwarf oak hung its arms altogether
! across the path. The lane was moreover much rut¬
ted and broken up by the carriages which had re¬
cently transported articles of various kinds to the
I tournament; and it was dark, for the banks and
| bushes intercepted the light of the harvest moon.
From the village were heard the distant sounds of
revelry, mixed occasionally with loud laughter, some¬
times broken by screams, and sometimes by wild
strains of distant music. All these sounds, intimat¬
ing the disorderly state of the town, crowded with
military nobles and their dissolute attendants, gave
I Gurth some uneasiness. “The Jewes.3 was right,”
j he said to himself. “By heaven and St. Dunstan,
j I would I were safe at my journey’s end with all
this treasure! Here are such numbers, I will not
Question : What did Gurth want to do when he got his
freedom from Cedric?
150
IVANHOE
say of arrant thieves, but of errant knights and
errant squires, errant monks and errant minstrels,
errant jugglers and errant jesters, that a man with a
single merk would be in danger, much more a poor
swineherd with a whole bagful of zecchins. Would
I were out of the shade of these infernal bushes,
that I might at least see any of St. Niholas’s clerks
before they spring on my shoulderlS.,,
Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to
gain the open common to which the lane led, but
was not so fortunate as to accomplish his object.
Just as he attained the upper end of the lane, where
the underwood was thickest, four men sprung upon
him, even as his fears anticipated, two from each
side of the road, and seized him so fast, that resist¬
ance, if at first practicable, would have been now
too late. — “Surrender your charge,” said one of
them; “we are the deliverers of the commonwealth,
who ease every man of his burden.”
“You should not e^se me of mine so lightly,”
muttered Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be
tamed even by the pressure of immediate violence,
“had I it in but my power to give three strokes in its
defense.”
“We shall see that presently,” said the robber, and
speaking to his companions, he added, “bring along
the knave, I see he would have his head broken, as
well as his purse cut, and so be let blood in two veins
at once.”
Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this man¬
date, and having been dragged somewhat roughly
over the bank, on the left-hand side of the lane,
found himself in a straggling thicket, which lay be¬
twixt it and the open common. He was compelled
to follow his rough conductors into the very depth
Matron saint of thieves as well as of children.
Ivan hoe
151
of this cover, where they stopped unexpectedly in an
irregular open space, free in a great measure from
trees, and on which, therefore, the beams of the
moon fell without much interruption from bough
and leaves. Here his captors were joined by two
other persons, apparently belonging to the gang.
They had short swords by their sides, and quarter-
staves in their hands, and Gurth could now observe
that all six wore visors, which rendered their occu¬
pation a matter of no question, even had their form¬
er proceedings left in doubt.
“What money hast thou, churl ?” said one of the
thieves.
“Thirty zecchins of my own property,” answered
Gurth, doggedly.
“A forfeit — a forfeit,” shouted the robbers- “n
Saxon hath thirty zecchins, and returns sober from
a village! An undeniable and unredeemable forfeit
of all he hath about him.”
“I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said
Gurth.
“Thou art an ass,” replied one of the thieves;
“three quarts of double ale had rendered thee as
free as thy master, ay, and freer too, if he be a
Saxon like thyself.”
“A sad truth,” replied Gurth ; “but if these same
thirty zecchins will buy my freedom from you, un¬
loose my hands, and I will pay them to you.”
“Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some
authority over the others; “this bag which thou
bearest, as I can feel through thy cloak, contains
more coin than thou hast told us of.
“It is the good knight my master's,” answered
Gurth, “of which, assuredly, I would not have
spoken a word, had you been satisfied with working
your will upon mine own property.”
“Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber,
152
Ivan hoe
“I warrant thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas
so devoutly but what thy thirty zecchins may yet
escape, if thou deal uprightly with us. Meantime
render up thy trust for the time.” So saying, he
took from Gurth’s breast the large leathern pouch,
in which the purse given him by Rebecca was in¬
closed, as well as the rest of the zecchins, and then
continued his interrogation. — “Who is thy master?”
“The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth.
“Whose good lance,” replied the robber, “won the
prize in to-day’s tourney? What is his name and
lineage?”
*Tt is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, “that they
be concealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn
naught of them.”
“What is thine own name and lineage?’’
“To tell that,” said Gurth, “might reveal my
master’s.”
“Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber, “but
of that anon. How comes thy master by this gold?
Is it of his inheritance, or by what means hath it
accrued to him?”
“By his good lance,” answered Gurth. — “These
bags contain the ransom of four good horses, and
four good suits of armor.”
“How much is there?” demanded the robber.
“Two hundred zecchins.”
“Only two hundred zecchins!” said the bandit;
“your master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished,
and put them to a cheap ransom. Name those who
paid the gold.”
Gurth did so.
“The armor and horse of the Templar Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, at what ransom were they held? —
Thou seest thou canst not deceive me.”
“My master,” replied Gurth, “will take naught
IVANHOE
153
| fiom the Templar save his life’s blood. They ar^
i on terms of mortal defiance, and cannot hold courte¬
ous intercourse together.”
‘Indeed!” repeated the robber, and paused after
| he. had said the word. “And what wert thou now
doing at Ashby with such a charge in thy custody?”
“I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of
York,” replied Gurth, “the price of a suit of armor
with which he fitted my master for this tournament.’’
“And how much didst thou pay to Isaac?— Me-
thinks to judge by weight, there is still two hundred
zecchins in this pouch.”
“I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, “eighty zec¬
chins, and he restored me a hundred in lieu there¬
of.”
“How! what!” exclaimed all the robbers at once;
“darest thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such
improbable lies?”
“What I tell you,” said Gurth, “is as true as the
moon is in heaven. You will find the just sum in
a silken purse within the leathern pouch, and sepa¬
rate from the rest of the gold.”
“Bethink thee, man,” said the Captain, “thou
speakest of a Jew — of an Israelite, — as unapt to
restore gold as the dry sand of his deserts to return
the cup of water which the pilgrim spills upon
them.”
“There is no more mercy in them,” said another
of the banditti, “than in an unbribed sheriff’s of¬
ficer.”
“It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth.
“Strike a light instantly,” said the Captain; “I
will examine this said purse; and if it be as this
I fellow says, the Jew’s bounty is little less miracu-
| lous than the stream which relieved his fathers in
the wilderness.”
154
Ivan hoe
A light was procured accordingly, and the robber
proceeded to examine the purse. The others crowded
around him, and even two who had hold of Gurth
relaxed their grasp while they stretched their necks
to see the issue of the search. Availing himself of
their negligence, by a sudden exertion of strength
and activity, Gurth shook himself free of their hold,
and might have escaped, could he have resolved to
leave his master’s property behind him. But such
was no part of his intention. He wrenched a quar¬
ter-staff from one of the fellows, struck down the
Captain, who was altogether unaware of his pur¬
pose, and had well-nigh repossessed himself of the
pouch and treasure. The thieves, however, were too
nimble for him, and again secured both the bag and
the trusty Gurth.
“Knave!” said the Captain, getting up, “thou hast
broken my head; and with other men of our sort
thou wouldst fare the worse for thy insolence. But
thou shalt know thy fate instantly. First let us
speak of thy master; the knight’s matters must go
before the squire’s, according to due order of chival¬
ry. Stand thou fast in the meantime — if thou stir
again, thou shalt have that will make thee quiet for
life.— Comrades !” he then said, addressing his gang,
“this purse is embroidered with flebrew characters,
and I well believe the yeoman’s tale is true. The
errant knight, his master, must needs pass us toll-
free. He is too like ourselves for us to make booty
of him, since dogs should not worry dogs where
wolves and foxes are to be found in abundance.”
“Like us?” answered one of the gang; “I should
like to hear how that is made good.”
“Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “is he
not poor and disinherited as we are? — Doth he not
win his substance at the sword’s point as we do? — -
IVANHOE
155
Hath he not beaten Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin,
even as we would beat them if we could? It he not
the enemy to life and death of Brian de Bois-Guil-
bert, whom we have so much reason to fear? And
were all this otherwise, wouldst thou have us show
a worse conscience than an unbeliever, a Hebrew
Jew?”
“Nay, that were a shame,” muttered the other
fellow; “and yet, when I served in the band of
stout old Gandelyn, we had no such scruples of con¬
science. And this insolent peasant, — he too, I war¬
rant me,, is to be dismissed scatheless?”
“Not if thou canst scathe him,” replied the Cap¬
tain. — “Here, fellow,” continued he, addressing
Gurth, “canst thou use the staff, that thou startst
to it so readily?”
“I think,” said Gurth, “thou shouldst be best able
to reply to that question.”
“Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round
knock,” replied the Captain; “do as much for this
fellow, and thou shalt pass scot-free, and if thou
dost not — why, by my faith, as thou art such a
sturdy knave, I think I must pay thy ransom my¬
self. — Take thy staff, Miller,” he added, “and keep
thy head ; .and do you others let the fellow go, and
give him a staff — there is light enough to lay on
load1 by.”
The two champions being alike armed with quar¬
ter-staves, stepped forward into the center of the
open space, in order to have the full benefit of the
moonlight; the thieves in the meantime laughing,
and crying to their comrade, “Miller! beware thy
lrTo lay on strokes, to fight.
Question : Are the outlaws introduced for the first
time into the story? Has any one of them been seen be¬
fore?
156
Ivan hoe
toll-dish.”1 2 The Miller, on the other hand, holding
his quarter-staff by the middle, and making it flour¬
ish round his head after the fashion which the
French call faire le moulinet ; exclaimed boastful¬
ly, “Come on, churl, an thou darest: thou shalt feel
the strength of a miller’s thumb3!”
“If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, un¬
dauntedly, making his weapon play around his head
with equal dexterity, “thou art doubly a thief, and
I, as a true man, bid thee defiance.”
So saying, the two champions closed together, and
for a few minutes they displayed great equality in
strength, courage, and skill, intercepting and return¬
ing the blows of their adversary with the most rapid
dexterity, while, from the continued clatter of their
weapons, a person at a distance might have sup¬
posed that there were at least six persons engaged
on each side. Less obstinate, and even less danger¬
ous combats, have been described in good heroic
verse; but that of Gurth and the Miller must remain
unsung, for want of a sacred poet to do justice to its
eventful progress. Yet, though quarter-staff play
be out of date, what we can in prose we will do for
these bold champions.
Long they fought equally, until the Miller began
to lose temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed,
and at hearing the laughter of his companions, who
as usual in such cases, enjoyed his vexation. This
was not a state of mind favorable to the noble game
of quarter-staff, in which, as in ordinary cudgel¬
playing, the utmost coolness is requisite; and it
aA dish for measuring grain tolls, or the miller’s share
of the grain ; the miller’s head is meant here.
2To play the wind mill.
“Since a miller used his thumb in testing flour, his thumb j
was supposed to be large and flat.
Ivan hoe
157
: gave Gurth, whose temper was steady, though surly,
the opportunity of acquiring a decided advantage,
in availing himself of which he displayed great
| mastery.
The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing
blows with either end of his weapon alternately, and
striving to come to half-staff distance, while Gurth
! defended himself against the attack, keeping his
hands about a yard asunder, and covering himself
by shifting his weapon with great celerity, so as
to protect his head and body. Thus did he maintain
[ the defensive, making his eye, foot, and hand keep
true time, until, observing his antagonist to lose
wind, he darted the staff at his face with his left
hand; and as the Miller endeavored to parry the
thrust, he slid his right hand down to his left, and
I with the full swing of the weapon struck his oppo-
; nent on the left side of the head, who instantly
measured his length upon the greensward.
“Well and yeomanly done!” shouted the robbers;
j “fair play and old England forever! The Saxon
: hath saved both his purse and his hide, and the
Miller has met his match.”
“Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,” said the
Captain, addressing Gurth, in special confirmation
of the general voice, “and I will cause two of my
comrades to guide thee by the best way to thy mas¬
ter’s pavilion, and to guard thee from night-walk¬
ers that might have less tender consciences than
ours; for there is many one of them upon the amble
in such a night as this. Take heed, however,” he
il added sternly; “remember thou hast refused to tell
| thy name — ask not after ours, nor endeavor to
I discover who or what we are; for, if thou makest
! such an attempt, thou wilt come by worse foitune
than has yet befallen thee.”
158
IVANHOE
Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and
promised to attend to his recommendation. Two of
the outlaws, taking up their quarter-staves and de¬
siring Gurth to follow close in the rear, walked
roundly forward along a by-path, which traversed
the thicket and the broken ground adjacent to it.
On the very verge of the thicket two men spoke
to his conductors, and receiving an answer in a
whisper, withdrew into the woods, and suffered
them to pass unmolested. This circumstance in¬
duced Gurth to believe both that the gang was
strong in numbers, and that they kept regular
guards around their place of rendezvous.
When they arrived on the open heath, where
Gurth might have had some trouble in finding his
road, the thieves guided him straight forward to the
top of a little eminence, whence he could see, spread
beneath him in the moonlight, the palisades of the
lists, the glimmering pavilions pitched at either
end, with the pennons which adorned them flutter¬
ing in the moonbeams, and from which could be
heard the hum of the song with which the sentinels
were beguiling their night-watch.
Here the thieves stopt.
“We go with you no farther,” said they; “it were
not safe that we should do so. — Remember the warn¬
ing you have received — keep secret what has this
night befallen you, and you will have no room to re¬
pent it — neglect what is now told you, and the Tower
of London shall not protect you against our re-
venge.,,
“Good-night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth; “I
shall remember your orders, and trust that there is
no offense in wishing you a safer and an honester
trade.”
Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the
I
IVANHOE 159
j direction from whence they had come, and Gurth
proceeding to the tent of his master, to whom, not¬
withstanding the injunction he had received, he
; communicated the whole adventure of the evening.
The Disinherited Knight waJs filled with astonish¬
ment, no less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which,
however, he resolved he would not profit, than that
of the robbers, to whose profession such a quality
seemed totally foreign. His course of reflections
upon these singular circumstances was, however,
interrupted by the necessity for taking repose,
which the fatigue of the preceding day, and the
propriety of refreshing himself for the morrow’s en¬
counter, rendered alike indispensable.
The knight, therefore, 'stretched himself for re¬
pose upon a rich couch with which the tent was
provided; and the faithful; Gurth,,, extending his
hardy limbs upon a bear-skin which formed a sort
of carpet to the pavilion, laid himself across tht
opening of the tent, so that no one could enter with¬
out awakening him.
CHAPTER XII
The heralds left their pricking up and down,
Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion.
There is no more to say, but east and west,
In go the spears full sadly in the rest,
In go the sharp spur into the side,
There are seen men who can just and who can ride ;
There shiver shafts upon shieldes thick,
He feeleth through the heart-spoon the prick;
Up springen speares, twenty feet in height,
Out go the swordes as the silver bright;
The helmes they to-hewn and to-shred;
Out bursts the blood with stern streames red.
Chatjceb.
Morning arose in unclouded splendor, and ere the
sun was much above the horizon, the idlest or the
most eager of the spectators appeared on the com¬
mon, moving to the lists as to a general center, in
order to secure a favorable situation for viewing the
continuation of the expected games.
The marshals and their attendants appeared next
on the field, together with the heralds, for the pur¬
pose of receiving the names of the knights who in¬
tended to joust, with the feide which each chose to
espouse. This was a necessary precaution, in order
to secure equality betwixt the two bodies who should
be opposed to each other.
According to due formality, the Disinherited
Knight was to be considered as leader of the one
body, while Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had been
rated a)3 having done second-best in the preceding
day, was named first champion of the other band.
Those who had concurred in the challenge adhered
to his party of course, excepting only Ralph de
Vipont, whom his fall had rendered unfit so soon to
put on his armor* There was no want of distin-
IVANHOE
161
guished and noble candidates to fill up the ranks on
either side.
In fact, although the general tournament, in
which all knights fought at once, was more danger¬
ous than single encounters, they were nevertheless,
more frequented and practiced by the chivalry of
the age. Many knights, who had not sufficient con¬
fidence in their own skill to defy a single adversary
of high reputation, were, nevertheless, desirous of
displaying their valor in the general combat, where
they might meet others with whom they were more
upon an equality. On the present occasion, about
fifty knights were inscribed as desirous of combat¬
ing upon each side, when the marshals declared that
no more could be admitted, to the disappointment
of several who were too late in preferring their
claim to be included.
About the hour of ten o’clock, the whole plain was
crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-pas¬
sengers, hastening to the tournament; and shortly
after, a grand flourish of trumpets announced
Prince John and his retinue attended by many of
those knights who meant to take share in the game,
as well as others who had no such intention.
About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon,
with the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, 'by
Athelstane. This Saxon lord had arrayed his talJ
and strong person in armor, in order to take his
place among the combatants; and, considerably to
the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to enlist himself
on the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon,
indeed, had remonstrated strongly wth his friend
upon the injudicious choice he had made of his
party; but he had only received that sort of answer
usually given by those who are more obstinate in
162
IVANHOE
following their own course, than strong in justify¬
ing it. .
His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to
the party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had
the prudence to keep to himself. Though his apathy
of disposition prevented his taking any means to
recommend himself to the Lady Rowena, he was,
nevertheless, by no means insensible to her charms,
and considered his union with her as a matter al¬
ready fixed beyond doubt, by the assent of Cedric
and her other friends. It had therefore been with
smothered displeasure that the proud though indo¬
lent Lord Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the
preceding day select Rowena as the object of that
honor which it became his privilege to confer. In
order to punish him for a preference which seemed
to interfere with his own suit, Athelstane, confident
of his strength, and to whom his flatterers, at least,
ascribed great skill in arms, had determined not
only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his pow¬
erful succor, but, if an opportunity should occur, to
make him feel the weight of his battle-ax.
De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince
John, in obedience to a hint from him, had joined
the party of the challengers, John being desirous to
secure, if possible, the victory to that side. On the
other hand, many other knights, both English and
Norman, natives and strangers, took part against
the challengers, the more readily that the opposite
band was to be led by so distinguished a champion
as the Disinherited Knight had approved himself.
As isoon as Prince John observed that the destined
Queen of the day had arrived upon the *Wd, assum¬
ing that air of courtesy which sat well upon him,
when he was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward
to meet her, doffed his bonnet, and alighting from
IVANHOE
163
j
Ihis horse, assisted the Lady Rowena from her saddle,
while his followers uncovered at the same time, and
one of the most distinguished dismounted to hold
: her palfrey.
“It is thus,” said Prince John, “that we set the
! dutiful example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and
"Beauty, and are ourselves her guide to the throne
which she must this day occupy. — Ladies,” he said,
, “attend your Queen, as you wish in your turn to be
distinguished by like honors.”
So saying, the Prince marshaled Rowena to the
seat of honor opposite his own, while the fairest and
most distinguished ladies present crowded after her
to obtain places as near as possible to their tem¬
porary sovereign.
No sooner was Rowena seated, than a burst of
music, half-drowned by the shouts of the multitude,
greeted her new dignity. Meantime, the sun shone
fierce and bright upon the polished arms of the
| knights of either side, who crowded the opposite ex¬
tremities of the lists, and held eager conference to-
i gether concerning the best mode of arranging their
I line of battle, and supporting the conflict.
The heralds then proclaimed silence until the
j laws of the tourney should be rehearsed. These
were calculated in some degree to abate the dangers
of the day; a precaution the more necessary, as the
conflict was to be maintained with sharp swords and
pointed lances.
The champions were therefore prohibited to
thrust with the sword, and were confined to strik-
1 ing. A knight, it was announced, might use a mace
or battle-ax at pleasure, but the dagger was a pro¬
hibited weapon. A knight unhorsed might renew
I Question : What was Athelstane’s real reason for choos-
I ing to be one of the party of Brian de Bois-Gilbert?
164
IVANHOE
the fight on foot with any other on the opposite side
in the same predicament; but mounted horsemen
were in that case forbidden to assail him. When
any knight could force his antagonist to the extremi¬
ty of the lists, so as to touch the palisade with his
person or arms, such opponent was obliged to yield
himself vanquished, and his armor and horse were
placed at the disposal of the conqueror. A knight
thus overcome was not permitted to take farther
share in the combat. If any combatant was struck
down, and unable to recover his feet, his squire or
page might enter the lists, and drag his master out
of the press ; but in that case the knight was ad¬
judged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared
forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as
Prince John should throw down his leading staff, or
truncheon ; another precaution usually taken to pre¬
vent the unnecessary effusion of blood by the too
long endurance of a sport so desperate. Any knight
breaking the rules of the tournament, or otherwise
transgressing the rules of honorable chivalry, was
liable to be stripped of his arms, and, having his
shield reversed, to be placed in that posture astride
upon the bars of the palfsade, and exposed to public
derision, in punishment of his unknightly conduct.
Having announced these precautions, the heralds
concluded with an exhortation to each knight to do
his duty, and to merit favor from the Queen of
Beauty and Love.
This proclamation having been made, the heralds
withdrew to their stations. The knights, entering
at either end of the lists in long procession, ar¬
ranged themselves in a double file, precisely opposite
to each other, the leader of each party being in the
Question : What were the rules of the combat for the
second day?
Ivan hoe
165
center of the foremost rank, a post which he did not
occupy until each had carefully arranged the ranks
of his party, and stationed every one in his place.
It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious,
sight, to behold so many gallant champions,
mounted bravely, and armed richly, stand ready pre¬
pared for an encounter so formidable, seated on
their war-saddles like so many pillars of iron, and
awaiting the -signal of encounter with the same
; ardor as their generous steeds, which, by neighing
! and pawing the ground, gave signal of their im¬
patience.
As yet the knights held their long lances upright,
their bright points glancing to the sun, and the
! streamers with which they were decorated flutter-
! ing over the plumage of the helmets. Thus they
i remained while the marshals of the field surveyed
their ranks with the utmost exactness, lest either
party had more or fewer than the appointed num¬
ber. The tale was found exactly complete. The
marshals then withdrew from the lists, and William
de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the
signal words — Laissez aller!1 The trumpets sounded
as he spoke — the spears of the champions were at
once lowered and placed in the rests — the spurs
were dashed into the flanks of the horses, and the
two foremost ranks of either party rushed upon
each other in full gallop, and met in the middle of
the lists with a shock, the sound of which was heard
at a mile’s distance. The rear rank of each party
advanced at a slower pace to sustain the defeated,
and follow up the succecs of the victors of their
party.
The consequences of the encounter were not in¬
stantly seen, for the dust raised by the trampling
'Let go.
166
IVANHOE
of so many steeds darkened the air, and it was a
minute ere the anxious spectators could see the late
of the encounter. When the fight became visible,
half the knights on each side were dismounted, some
by the dexterity of their adversary's lance, — some
by the superior weight and strength of opponents,
which had borne down both horse and man, — some
lay stretched on earth as if never more to rise,- —
some had already gained their feet, and were clos¬
ing hand to hand with those of their antagonists
who were in the same predicament, — and several on
both sides, who had received wounds by which they
were disabled, were stopping their blood by their
scarfs, and endeavoring to extricate themselves
from the tumult. The mounted knights, whose
lances had been almost all broken by the fury of
the encounter, were now closely engaged with their
swords, shouting their war-cries, and exchanging
buffets, as if honor and life depended on the issue
of the combat.
The tumult was presently increased by the ad¬
vance of the second rank on either side, which, act¬
ing as a reserve, now rushed on to aid their com¬
panions. The followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert
shouted: “Ha! Beau-seant!1 Beau-seant! — For the
Temple — For the Temple!” The opposite party
shouted in answer — “Desdichado! Desdichado!” —
which watchword they took from the motto upon
their leader’s shield.
The champions thus encountering each other with
the utmost fury, and with alternate success the tide
of battle seemed to flow now toward the southern,
lt4Beau seant was the name of the Templar’s banner,
which was half black and half white to intimate, it is
said, that they were candid and fair toward Christians, but
black and terrible toward infidels.” — Scott.
IVANHOE
167
now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as
the one or the other party prevailed. Meantime the
clang of the blows, and the shouts of the combat¬
ants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the trum-
! pets, and drowned the groans of those who fell and
lay rolling defenseless beneath the feet of the
horses. The splendid armor of the combatants was
| now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at
every stroke of the sword and battle-ax. The gay
plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the
| breeze like snowflakes. All that was beautiful and
graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and
what was now visible was only calculated to awake
terror or compassion.
Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the
vulgar spectators, who are naturally attracted by
| sights of horror, but even the ladies of distinction,
who crowded the galleries, saw the conflict with a
thrilling interest certainly, but without a wish to
withdraw their eyes from a sight so terrible. Here
and there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, or
a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother,
or a husband, tvas struck from his horse. But, in
general, the ladies around encouraged the combat-
j ants, not only by clapping their hands and waving
their veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming,
“Brave lance! Good sword!” when any successful
thrust or blow took place under their observation.
Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in
this bloody game, that of the men is the more easily
understood. It showed itself in loud acclamations
upon every change of fortune, while all eyes were
|! so riveted on the lists, that the spectators seemed as
jj if they themselves had dealt and received the blows
I which were there so freely bestowed. And between
every pause was heard the voice of the heralds, ex-
168
IVANHOE
claiming, “Fight on, brave knights! Mjan dies, but
glory lives ! — Fight on — death is better than defeat !
— Fight on, brave knights! — for bright eyes behold
your deeds!”
Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes
of all endeavored to discover the leaders of each
band, who, mingling in the thick of the fight, en¬
couraged their companions both by voice and ex¬
ample. Both displayed great feats of gallantry, nor
did either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited Knight
find in the ranks opposed to them a champion who
could be termed their unquestioned match. They
repeatedly endeavored to single out each other,
spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the
fall of either leader might be considered as decisive
of victory. Such, however, was the crowd and con¬
fusion, that, during the earlier part of the conflict,
their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they were
repeatedly separated by the eagerness of their fol¬
lowers, each of whom was anxious to win honor, by
measuring his strength against the leader of the
opposite party.
But when the field became thin by the numbers
on either side who had yielded themselves van¬
quished, had been compelled to the extremity of the
lists, or been otherwise rendered incapable of con¬
tinuing the strife, the Templar and the Disinherited
Knight at length encountered hand to hand, with all
the fury that mortal animosity, joined to rivalry of
honor, could inspire. Such was the address of each
in parrying and striking, that the spectators broke
forth into a unanimous and involuntary shout, ex¬
pressive of their delight and admiration.
But at this moment the party of the Disinherited
Knight had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-
Bceuf on the one flank, and the ponderous strength
IVANHOE
169
of Athelstane on the other, bearing down and dis¬
persing those immediately exposed to them. Find¬
ing themselves freed from their immediate antago¬
nists, it seems to have occurred to both these
knights at the same instant that they would render
the most decisive advantage to their party, by aid¬
ing the Templar in his contest with his rival. Turn¬
ing their horses, therefore, at the same moment, the
Norman spurred against the Disinherited Knight
on the one side, and the Saxon on the other. It was
utterly impossible that the object of this unequal
; and unexpected assault could have sustained it, had
he not been warned by a general cry from the spec¬
tators, who could not but take interest in one ex¬
posed to such disadvantage.
“Beware I beware! Sir Disinherited !”• was
shouted so universally, that the knight became
aware of his danger; and, (striking a full blow at the
Templar, he reined back his steed in the same mo¬
ment, so as to escape the charge of Athelstane and
Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, therefore, their aim
being thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides be¬
twixt the object of their attack and the Templar, al¬
most running their horses against each other ere
they could 'stop their career. Recovering their
horses, and wheeling them round, the whole three
pursued their united purpose of bearing to the earth
the Disinherited Knight.
Nothing could have saved him, except the remark¬
able strength and activity of the noble horse which
he had won on the preceding day.
This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of
Bois-Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de-
Boeuf and Athelstane were both tired with the
weight of their gigantic masters, clad in complete
armor, and with the preceding exertions of the day.
170
IVANHOE
The masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited
Knight, and the activity of the noble animal which
he mounted, enabled him for a few minutes to keep
at sword’s point his three antagonists, turning and
wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon the wing,
keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and
rushing now against the one, now against the other,
dealing sweeping blowis with his sword, without
waiting to receive those which were aimed at him
in return.
But although the lists rang with the applauses
of his dexterity, it was evident that he must at least
be overpowered; and the nobles around Prince John
implored him with one voice to throw down his
warder, and to save so brave a knight from the dis¬
grace of being overcome by odds.
“Not I, by the light of heaven!” answered Prince
John; “this same (springal, who conceals his name,
and despises our proffered hospitality, hath already
gained one prize, and may now afford to let others
have their turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected
incident changed the fortune of the day.
There was among the ranks of the Disinherited
Knight a champion in black armor, mounted on a
black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appeal ance
powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was
mounted. This knight, who bore on his hield no
device of any kind, had hitherto evinced very little
interest in the event of the fight, beating off with
seeming ease those combatants who attacked him,
but neither pursuing his advantages, nor himself
assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto acted
the part rather of a spectator than of a party in
the tournament, a circumstance which procured him
among the spectators the name of Le Noir Faineant ,
or the Black Sluggard.
IVANHOE
171
At once this knight seemed to throw aside his
apathy, when he discovered the leader of his party
so hard bested ; for, setting spurs to his horse, which
was quite fresh, he came to his assistance like a
thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet-
call, “Desdichado, to the rescue !” It was high
time; for, while the Disinherited Knight was press¬
ing upon the Templar, Front-de-Bceuf had got nigh
to him with his uplifted sword; but ere the blow
could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke on
his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet,
lighted with violence scarcely abated on the cham-
fro.i,1 of the steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the
ground, both horse and man equally stunned by the
fury of the blow. Le Noir Faineant then turned his
horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; and his
own sword having been broken in his encounter
with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand of
the bulky Saxon the battle-ax which he wielded,
and like one familiar with the use of the weapon,
bestowed him (such a blow upon the crest, that
Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. Having
achieved this double feat, for which he was the
more highly applauded that it was totally unex¬
pected from him, the knight seemed to resume the
sluggishness of his character, returning calmly to
the northern extremity of the lists, leaving hi>3 lead¬
er to cope as he best could with Brian de Bois-Guil-
bert. This was no longer matter of so much difficul¬
ty as formerly. The Templar’s horse had bled much,
and gave way under the shock of the Disinherited
Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on
the field, encumbered with the stirrup, from which
he was unable to draw his foot. His antagonist
sprung from horseback, waved his fatal sword over
Armor protecting the forehead.
172
IVANHOE
the head of his adversary, and commanded him to i
yield himself; when Prince John, more moved by
the Templar’s dangerous situation than he had been
by that of his rival, saved him the mortification of
confessing himself vanquished, by casting down his
warder, and putting an end to the conflict.
It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the
fight which continued to burn; for of the few
knights who still continued in the lists, the greater
part had, by tacit consent, forborne the conflict for
some time, leaving it to be determined by the strife
of the leaders.
The squires, who had found it a matter of danger
and difficulty to attend their masters during the en¬
gagement, now thronged into the lists to pay their
dutiful attendance to the wounded, who were re¬
moved with the utmost care and attention to the
neighboring pavilions, or to the quarters prepared
for them in the adjoining village.
Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-
Zouche, one of the most gallantly contested tourna¬
ments of that age; for although only four knights,
including one who was smothered by the heat of his
armor, had died upon the field, yet upwards of
thirty were desperately wounded, four or five of
whom never recovered. Several more were disabled
for life; and those who escaped best carried the
marks of the conflict to the grave with them. Hence
it is always mentioned in the old records, as the
Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby.
It being now the duty of Prince John to name the
knight who had done best, he determined that the
honor of the day remained with the knight whom
the popular voice had termed Le Noir Faineant. It
was pointed out to the Prince, in impeachment of
this decree, that the victory had been in fact won by
Ivan hoe
173
the Disinherited Knight, who, in the course of the
day, had overcome six champions with his own hand,
and who had finally unhorsed and struck down the
leader of the opposite party. But Prince John ad¬
hered to his own opinion, on the ground that the
Disinherited Knight and his party had lost the day
but for the powerful assistance of the Knight of the
Black Armor, to whom, therefore, he persisted in
awarding the prize.
To the surprise of all present, however, the knight
thus preferred was nowhere to be found. He had
left the lists immediately when the conflict ceased,
and had been observed by some spectators to move
down one of the forest glades with the same slow
pace and listless and indifferent manner which had
procured him the epithet of the Black Sluggard.
After he had been summoned twice by sound of
trumpet, and proclamation of the heralds, it became
necessary to name another to receive the honors
' which had been assigned to him. Prince John had
now no further excuse for resisting the claim of the
Disinherited Knight whom, therefore, he named the
champion of the day.
Through a field slippery with blood, and encum¬
bered with broken armor and the bodies of slain
and wounded horses, the marshals of the lists again
conducted the victor to the foot of Prince John's
throne.
“Disinherited Knight," said Prince John, “since
by that title only you will consent to be known to us,
we a second time award to you the honors of this
tournament, and announce to you your right to
claim and receive from the hand*" of the Queen of
Love and Beauty the Chaplet of Honor which your
valor has justly deserved.” The Knight bowed low
and gracefully, but returned no answer.
174
IVANHOE
While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds
strained their voices in proclaiming honor to the
brave and glory to the victor, while ladies waved
their silken kerchiefs and embroidered veils, and
while all ranks joined in a clamorous shout of ex¬
ultation, the marshals conducted the Disinherited
Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne of
honor which was occupied by the Lady Rowena.
On the lower step of this throne the champion
was made to kneel down. Indeed, his whole action
since the fight had ended seemed rather to have been
upon the impulse of those around him than from
his own free will; and it was observed that he tot¬
tered as they guided him the second time across the
lists. Rowena, descending from her station with a
graceful and dignified step, was about to place the
chaplet which she held in her hand upon the helmet
of the champion, when the marshals exclaimed with
one voice, “It must not be thus — his head must fie
bare.” The knight muttered faintly a few words
which were lost in the hollow of his helmet, but
their purport seemed to be a desire that his casque
might not be removed.
Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the
marshals paid no attention to his expression of re¬
luctance, but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of
his casque, and undoing the fastening of his gorget.
When the helmet was removed, the well-formed, yet
sunburnt features of a young man of twenty-five
were seen, amidst a profusion of short fair hair.
His countenance was as pale as death, and marked
in one or two places with streaks of blood.
Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she ut¬
tered a faint shriek; but at once summoning up the
energy of her disposition, and compelling herself, as
it were, to proceed, while her frame yet trembled
IVANHOE
175
with the violence of sudden emotion, she placed up¬
on the drooping head of the victor the splendid
chaplet which was the destined reward of the day,
and pronounced, in a clear and distinct tone, these
words : “I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir Knight,
as the meed of valor assigned to this day’s victor.”
Here she paused a moment, and then firmly added,
“And upon brows more worthy could a wreath ef
chivalry never be placed!”
The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand
of the lovely Sovereign by whom his valor had been
rewarded; and then, sinking yet further forward,
lay prostrate at her feet.
There was a general consternation. Cedric, who
had been struck mute by the sudden appearance "of
his banished son. now rushed forward, as if to sep¬
arate him from Rowena. But this had been already
accomplished by the marshals of the field, who,
guessing the cause of Ivanhoe’s swoon, had hartenefl
to undo his armor, and found that the head of a
lance had penetrated his breastplate, and inflicted a
wound in his side.
CHAPTER XIII
“Heroes, approach !” Atrides thus aloud,
“Stand forth distinguish’d from the circling crowd,
Ye who by skill or manly force may claim,
Your rivals to surpass and merit fame.
This cow, worth twenty oxen is decreed,
For him who farthest sends the winged reed.”
Iliad.
The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced
than it flew from mouth to mouth, with all the celer¬
ity with which eagerness could convey and curios¬
ity receive it. It was not long ere it reached the
circle of the Prince, whose brow darkened as he
heard the news. Looking around him, however, with
an air of scorn, “My Lords.” said he, “and espe¬
cially you, Sir Prior, what think ye of the doctrine
the learned tell us, concerning innate attractions
and antipathies? Methinks that I felt the presence
of my brother’s minion, even when I least guessed
whom yonder suit of armor inclosed.”
“Front-de-Bceuf must prepare to restore his fief
of Ivanhoe,” said De Bracy, who. having discharged
his part honorably in the tournament, had laid his
shield and helmet aside, and again mingled with the
Prince’s retinue.
“Av.” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, “this gal¬
lant is likely to reclaim the castle and manor which
Richard assigned to him, and which your Highness’s
generosity has since given to Front-de-Bceuf.”
“Front-de-Boenf.” replied John, “is a man more
willing to swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe
than to disgorge one of them. For the rest, sirs. I
Question: Trace the references to the missing son of
Cedric and to items that point to the identity of Ivanhoe.
IVANHOE
177
hope none here will deny my right to confer the fiefs
of the crown upon the faithful followers who are
around me, and ready to perform the usual military
service, in the room of those who have wandered to
foreign countries and can neither render homage
nor service when called upon.”
The audience were too much interested in the
question not to pronounce the Prince's assumed
right altogether indubitable. “A generous Prince!
a most noble Lord, who thus takes upon himself
the task of rewarding his faithful followers!”
Such were the words which burst from the train,
expectants all of them of similar grants at the ex¬
pense of King Richard’s followers and favorites, if
indeed they had not as yet received such. Prior
Aymer also assented to the general proposition, ob¬
serving, however, “That the blessed Jerusalem
could not indeed be termed a foreign country. She
was communis mater 1 2 — the mother of all Christians.
But he saw not,” he declared, “how the Knights of
Ivanhoe could plead any advantage from this, since
he” (the Prior) “was assured that the crusaders,
under Richard, had never proceeded much farther
than Askalon3 which, as all the world knew, was a
town of the Philistines, and entitled to none of the
privileges of the Holy City.”
Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards
the place where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground,
now returned. “The gallant,” said he, “is likely
to give your Highness little disturbance, and to
’Common mother.
2A city on the Mediterranean belonging to the Philistines
in Rible times.
Question : Whom does Ivanhoe’s appearance disturb?
Why?
178
IVANHOE
leave Front-de-Boeuf in the quiet possession of his
gains — he is severely wounded/’
“Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John,
“he is victor of the day; and were he tenfold cur
enemy, or the devoted friend of our brother, which
is perhaps the same, his wounds must be looked to —
our own physician shall attend him.”
A stern smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spokt,
Waidemar Fitzurse hastened to reply that Ivanhoe
was already removed from the lists, and in the cus¬
tody of his friends.
“I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “to see the
grief of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sov¬
ereignty of a day this event has changed into mourn¬
ing. I am not a man to be moved bv a woman’s
lament for her lover, but this same Lady Rowena
suppressed her sorrow with such dignity of manner,
that it could only be discovered by her folded hands,
and her tearless eye, which trembled as it remained
fixed on the lifeless form before her.”
“Who is this Lady Rowena/’ said Prince John,
“of whom we have heard so much?”
“A Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied
the Prior Aymer; “a rose of loveliness, and a jewel
of wealth; the fairest among a thousand, a bundle of
myrrh, and a cluster of camphire.”
“We sliall cheer her sorrows.” said Prince John,
“and amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman.
She seems a minor and must therefore be at our
royal disposal in marriage. — How sayst thou, De
Bracy? What thinkest thou of gaining fair lands
and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after the fashion
of the followers of the Conqueror?”
“If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered
De Bracy, “it will be hard to displease me with a
bride; and deeply will I hold myself bound to your
IVANHOE
179
Highness for a good deed, which will fulfill all
promises made in favor of your servant and vassal/’
“We will not forget it,” said Prince John; “and
that we may instantly go to work, command our
seneschal presently to order the attendance of the
Lady Rowena and her company — that is, the rude
churl her guardian, and the Saxon ox whom the
Black Knight struck down in the tournament, upon
this evening’s banquet.— De Bigot,’’ he added to his
seneschal, “thou wilt word this our second summons
so courteously as to gratify the pride of these Sax¬
ons, and make it impossible for them again to re¬
fuse; although, by the bones of Becket/ courtesy to
them is casting pearls before swine.”
Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was
about to give the signal for retiring from the lists,
when a small billet was put into his hand.
“From whence?” said Prince John, looking at the
person by whom it was delivered.
“From foreign parte, my lord, but from whence
I know not,” replied his attendant. “A Frenchman
brought it hither, who said he had ridden night and
day to put it into the hands of your Highness.”
The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription,
and then at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-
silk with which the billet was surrounded, and which
bore the impression of three fleurs-de-lis. John
then opened the billet with apparent agitation,
which visibly and greatly increased when he had
perused the contents, which were expressed in these
words —
“Take heed to yourself , for the Devil is unchained /”
1Thomas a Becket. Archbishop of Canterbury. Con¬
sidered a martyr. Pilgrimages were made to his shrine.
See Chaucer. The Canterbury Tales,
180
IVANHOE
The Prince turned pale as death, looked first on
the earth, and then up to heaven, like a man who
has received news that sentence of execution has
been passed upon him. Recovering from the first
effects of his surprise, he took Waldemar Fitzurse
and De Bracy aside, and put the billet into their
hands successively. “It means,” he added, in a fal¬
tering voice, “that my brother Richard has obtained
his freedom.”
“This may be a false alarm, or a forged letter,”
said De Bracy.
“It is France’s1 own hand and seal,” replied
Prince John.
“It is time, then,” said Fifzurse, “to draw our
party to a head, either at York, or some other centri¬
cal place. A few days later, and it will be indeed
too late. Your Highness must break sTiort this pres¬
ent mummery.”
“The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy,
“must not be dismissed discontented, for lack of
their share in the sports.”
“The day,” said Waldemar, “is not yet very far
spent — let the archers shoot a few rounds at the
target, and the prize be adjudged. This will be rwi
abundant fulfilment of the Prince’s promises, so
far as this herd of Saxon serfs is concerned.”
“I thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince; “thou
remindest me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that
insolent peasant who yesterday insulted our person.
Our banquet also <?hall go forward to-night as we
proposed. Were this my last hour of power, it
would be an hour sacred to revenge and to pleasure
— let new cares '’ome with to-morrow’s new day.”
’Philip of France,
Question : Why did Scott choose this time to have the
note concerning Richard brought to Prince John?
IVANHOE
181
The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those
spectators who had already begun to leave the field ;
and proclamation was made that Prince John, sud¬
denly called by high and peremptory public duties,
held himself obligated to discontinue the entertain¬
ments of to-morrow’s festival: nevertheless, that,
unwilling so many good yeomen should depart with¬
out a trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint them,
before leaving the ground, presently to execute the
competition of archery intended for the morrow. To
the best archer a prize was to be awarded, being a
bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a silver bald¬
ric richly ornamented with a medallion of SE.
Hubert, the patron of silvan sport.
More than thirty yeomen at first presented them¬
selves as competitors, several of whom were rangers
and under-keepers in the royal forests of Needwood
and Charnwood. When, however, the archers un¬
derstood with whom they were to be matched, up¬
wards of twenty withdrew themselves from the con¬
test. unwilling to encounter the dishonor of almost
certain defeat. Tor in those days the skill of each
celebrated marksman was well known for many
miles round him, as the qualities of a horse trained
a’t Newmarket1 are familiar to those who frequent
that well-known meeting.
The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame
still amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from
his royal seat to view more nearly the persons of
these chosen yeomen, several of whom wore the roy¬
al livery. Having satisfied his curiosity by this in-
vestigfation, he looked for the object of his resent¬
ment, whom he observed standing on the same spot,
and with the same composed countenance which he
had exhibited upon the preceding day.
aTown in England noted for its horse races.
182
IVANHOE
<rFelIow,” said Prince John, “I guessed by thy
insolent babble thou wert no true lover of the long¬
bow,1 and I see thou darest not adventure thy skill
among such merry-men as istand yonder.” '
■‘Under favor, sir,” replied the yeoman, “I have
another reason for refraining to shoot, besides the
fearing discomfiture and disgrace. ”
“And what is thy other reason?” said Prince
John, who, for some cause which, perhaps, he could
not himself have explained, felt a painful curiosity
respecting this individual.
“Because,” replied the woodsman, “I know not if
these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same
marks; and because, moreover, I know not how your
Grace might relish the winning of a third prize
by one who has unwittingly fallen under your dis¬
pleasure.”
Prince John colored as he put the question, “What
is thy name, yeoman?”
“Locksley,” answered the yeoman.
“Then, Locksley,”2 said Prince John, “thou shalt
shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed
their skill. If thou earnest the prize, I will aifci
to it twenty nobles3; but if thou losest it, thou shalt
be stript of thy Lincoln-green, and scourged out of
the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent
braggart/’
And how if I refuse to 'shoot on such a wager?”
said the yeoman. — “Your Grace’s power, supported,
as it is, by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily
strip and scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend
or to draw my bow.”
'About the height of a man ; in contrast to short bow.
2Robin Hood.
3An old English coin, worth a little more than one dollar
and a half.
Ivan hoe
183
“If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the
Prince, “the Provost of the lists shall cut thy bow¬
string, break thy bow and arrows, and expel thee
from the presence as a faint-hearted craven.”
“This is no fair chance you put on me, proua
Prince,'' said the yeoman, “to compel me to peril
myself against the best archers of Leicester ana
* Staffordshire, under the penalty of infamy if they
should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obey your
pleasure.”
“Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince
John; “his heart is sinking. I am jealous lest he
attempt to escape the trial. — And do you, good fel¬
lows, shoot boldly round; a buck and a butt of wine
are ready for your refreshment in yonder tent, when
the prize is won.”
A target was placed at the upper end of the south¬
ern avenue which led to the lists. The contending
archers took their station in turn, at the bottom of
the southern access, the distance between that sta¬
tion and the mark allowing full distance for what
was called a shot at rovers.1 The archers, having
! previously determined by lot their order of prece¬
dence, were to shoot each three shafts in succes¬
sion. The sports were regulated by an officer of in¬
ferior rank, termed the Provost of the Games; for
the high rank of the marshals of the lists would
have been held degraded, had they condescended to
superintend the sports of the yeomanry.
One by one the archers, stepping forward, deliv¬
ered their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twen¬
ty-four arrows, shot in 'succession, ten were fixed in
*A shot at height or long distance; sometimes to shoot
at random.
Question: How does Scott stir up interest in a sec¬
ond contest of the day?
184
IVANHOE
the target, and the others ranged so near it, that,
considering the distance of the mark, it was ac¬
counted good archery. Of the ten shafts which nit
the target, two within the inner ring were shot by
Hubert, a forester in the service of Malvoisin, who
was accordingly pronounced victorious.
“Now, Locksiey,” said Prince John to the bold
yeoman, with a bitter smile, “wilt thou try conclu¬
sions with Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, bald¬
ric, and quiver to the Provost of the sports V*
“Sith it be no better,” said Locksiey, “I am con¬
tent to try my fortune, on condition that when I have
shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall
be bound to shoot one at that which I shall propose.”
“That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “and
it shall not be refused thee. — If thou dost beat this
braggart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver
pennies for thee.”
“A man can do but his best,” answered Hubert,
“but my grandsire drew a good long-bow at Hast¬
ings1 and I trust not to dishonor his memory.”
The former target was now removed, and a fresh
one of the same size placed in its room. Hubert,
who, as victor in the first trial of skill, had the right
to shoot first, took his aim with great deliberation,
long measuring the distance with his eye, while he
held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow
placed on the string. At length he made a step for¬
ward, and raising the bow at the full stretch of his
left arm, till the center or grasping-place was nigh
level with his face, he drew his bowstring to his ear.
The arrow whistled through the air, and lighted
within the inner circle of the target, but not exact¬
ly in the center.
“You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said
Tiattle of Hastings, 1066.
IVANHOE
185
his antagonist, bending his bow, “or that had been
a better shot/’
So saying, and without showing the least anxiety
to pause upon his aim, Locksley stept to the ap¬
pointed station, and >shot his arrow as carelessly in
appearance as if he had not even looked at the mark.
He was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft
left the bowstring, yet it alighted in the target two
inches nearer to the white spot which marked the
center than that of Hubert.
“By the light of heaven !” said Prince John to
Hubert, “an thou suffer that runagate knave to over¬
come thee, thou art worthy of the gallows !”
Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions.
“An your Highness were to hang me/’ he said, “a
man can but do his best. Nevertheless, my grand-
sire drew a good bow — ”
“The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his gen¬
eration!” interrupted John; “sh.oot, knave, and
shoot thy best, or it shall be the worst for thee!”
Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not
neglecting the caution which he had received from
his adversary, he made the necessary allowance for
a very light air of wind, which had just arisen, and
shot so successfully that his arrows alighted in the
very center of the target.
“A Hubert! a Hubert!” shouted the populace,
more interested in a known person than in a strang¬
er. “In the clout! — in the clout! — a Hubert forever!”
“Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said
the Prince, with an insulting smile.
“I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied
Locksley. And letting fly his arrow with a little
more precaution than before, it lighted right upon
that of his competitor, which it split to shivers.
The people who stood around were so astonished at
186
Ivan hoe
his wonderful dexterity that they could not even
give vent to their surprise in their usual clamor.
“This must be the devil, and no man of flesh and
blood,” whispered the yeomen to each other; “such
archery was never seen since a bow was first bent
in Britain.”
“And now,” said Locksley, “I will crave your
Grace’s permission to plant such a mark as is used
in the North Country; and welcome every brave yeo¬
man who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from
the bonny lass he loves best.”
He then turned to leave the lists. “Let your
guards attend me,’’ he 'said, “if you please — I go but
to cut a rod from the next willow-bush.”
Prince John made a signal that some attendants
should follow him in case of his escape; but the cry
of “Shame! Shame!” which burst from the multi¬
tude, induced him to alter his ungenerous purpose.
Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow
wand about six feet in length, perfectly straight,
and rather thicker than a man’s thumb. He began
to peel this with great composure, observing at the
same time, that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at
a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was to
put shame upon his skill. “For his own part,” he
said, “and in the land where he was bred, men
would as soon take for their mark King Arthur’s
round-table,1 which held sixty knights around it. A
child of ‘seven years old,” he said, “might hit yon¬
der target with a headless shaft; but,” added he,
walking deliberately to the other end of the lists,
and sticking the willow wand upright in the ground,
“he that hits that rod at five-score yards, I call him
2See Tennyson’s Idylls of the Kino for the legend of
King Arthur and his knights gathered around the round
table.
Ivan hoe
187
m archer fit to bear both bow and quiver before a
iting an it were the stout King Richard himself.”
| “My grandsire,” said Hubert, “drew a good bow
at the battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a
nark in his life — and neither will I. If this yeo-
nan can cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers —
)r rather, I yield to the devil that is in his jerkin,
md not to any human skill; a man can but do his
jest, and I will not shoot where I am sure to miss.
. might as well shoot at the edge of our parson’s
vhittle, or at a wheat straw, or at a sunbeam, as at
i twinkling white streak which I can hardly see.”
I “Cowardly dog!” said Prince John. — “Sirrah
Locksley, do thou shoot; but, if thou hittest such a
nark, I will say thou art the first man ever did so.
Howe’er it be, thou shalt not crow over us with a
nere show of superior skill.”
“I will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered
Locksley; “no man can do more.”
So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the pres¬
ent occasion looked with attention to his weapon,
and changed the string, which he thought was no
longer truly round, having been a little frayed by
the two former shots. He then took his aim with
some deliberation, and the multitude awaited the
event in breathless silence. The archers vindicated
Itheir opinion of his skill: his arrow split the wil¬
low rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee of
acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in ad¬
miration of Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his
idislike to his person. “These twenty nobles,” he
isaid, “which, with the bugle, thou hast fairly won,
are thine own; we will make them fifty, if thou wilt
take livery and service with us as a yeoman of our
bodyguard, and be near to our person. For never
188
IVANHOE
did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye
direct a shaft.”
“Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley; “bui
I have vowed, that if ever I take service, it ^should
be with your royal brother, King Richard. These
twenty nobles, I leave to Hubert, who has this day
drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at Hast¬
ings. Had his modesty not refused the trial, he
would /have hit the wand as well as I.”
Hubert shook his head as he received with reluc¬
tance the bounty of the stranger, and Locksley, anx¬
ious to escape further observation, mixed with the
crowd, and was seen no more.
The victorious archer would not perhaps have es¬
caped John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince
had other subjects of anxious and more important
meditation pressing upon his mind at that instant.
He called upon hi>s chamberlain as he gave the sig¬
nal for retiring from the lists, and commanded him
instantly to gallop to Ashby, and seek out Isaac the
Jew. “Tell the dog,” he said, “to send me, before
sundown, two thousand crowns. He knows the se¬
curity; but thou mayst show him this ring for a
token. The rest of the money must be paid at York
within six days. If he neglects, I will have the un¬
believing villain’s head. Look that thou pass him
not on the way; for the circumcised slave was dis¬
playing his stolen finery amongst us.’’
So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and re¬
turned to Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and
dispersing upon his retreat.
I
Question : Do you suppose that Scott has any future,
use for Locksley? Who is Locksley?
CHAPTER XIV
In rough magnificence array’d,
When ancient Chivalry display'd
The pomp of her heroic gains,
And crested chiefs and tissued dames
Assembled, at the clarion’s call,
In some proud castle’s high-arch’d hall.
Warton.
Prince John held his high festival in the Castle
of Ashby. This was not the same building of which
the stately ruins still interest the traveler, and
which was erected at a later period by the Lord
Hastings,1 High Chamberlain of England, one of the
first victims of the tyranny of Richard the Third,
and yet better known as one of Shakespeare’s char¬
acters than by his historical fame. The castle and
town of Ashby, at this time, belonged to Roger de
Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, during the period
of our history, was absent in the Holy Land. Prince
John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and dis¬
posed of his domains without scruple; and seeking
at present to dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality
| and magnificence, had given orders for great prepa¬
rations, in order to render the banquet as splen¬
did as possible.
The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on
this and other occasions the full authority of roy¬
alty, had swept the country of all that could be col¬
lected which was esteemed fit for their master’s
table. Guests also were invited in great numbers;
and in the necessity in which he then found him¬
self of courting popularity, Prince John had ex¬
tended his invitation to a few distinguished Saxon
’Upon his return Richard had Lord Hastings executed.
190
IVANHOE
and Danish families, as well as to the Norman no¬
bility and gentry of the neighborhood. However
despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the
great numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessar¬
ily render them formidable in the civil commotions
which seemed approaching, and it was an obvious
point of policy to secure popularity with their lead¬
ers.
It was accordingly the Prince's intention, which
he for some time maintained, to treat these un¬
wonted guests with a courtesy to which they had
been little accustomed. But although no man with
less scruple made his ordinary habits and feelings
bend to his interest, it was the misfortune of this
Prince, that his levity and petulance were perpetual¬
ly breaking out, and undoing all that had been
gained by his previous dissimulation.
Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable exam¬
ple in Ireland, when sent thither by his father,
Henry the Second, with the purpose of buying gold¬
en opinions of the inhabitants of that new and im¬
portant acquisition to the English crown. Upon this
occasion the Irish chieftains contended which
should first offer to the young Prince their loyal
homage and the kiss of peace. But, instead of re¬
ceiving their salutations with courtesy, John and
his petulant attendants could not resist the tempta¬
tion of pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains ;
a conduct which, as might have been expected, was
highly resented by these insulted dignitaries, and
produced fatal consequences to the English domina¬
tion in Ireland. It is necessary to keep these incon¬
sistencies of John's character in view, that the read¬
er may understand his conduct during the present
evening.
In execution of the resolution which he had
IVANHOE
191
formed during his cooler moments, Prince John re¬
ceived Cedric and Athelstane with distinguished
courtesy, and expressed his disappointment, without
resentment, when the indisposition of Rowena was
alleged by the former as a reason for her not at¬
tending upon hi<3 gracious summons. Cedric and
Athelstane were both dressed in the ancient Saxon
garb, which, although not unhandsome in itself, and
in the present instance composed of costly materi¬
als, was so remote in shape and appearance from
that of the other guests, that Prince John took great
credit to himself with Waldemar FItzurse for re¬
fraining from laughter at a 'sight which the fash¬
ion of the day rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the eye
of sober judgment, the short close tunic and long
mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, as well
as a more convenient dress, than the garb of the
Normans, whose under garment was a long doublet,
so loose as to resemble a shirt or wagoner’s frock,
covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions, neither fit
to defend the wearer from cold or from rain, and
the only purpose of which appeared to be to display
as much fur, embroidery, and jewelry work as the
ingenuity of the tailor could contrive to lay upon
it. The Emperor Charlemagne,1 in whose reign they
were first introduced, seems to have been very sen¬
sible of the inconveniences arising from the fash¬
ion of this garment. “In Heaven’s name,” said he,
“to what purpose serve these abridged cloaks? If
we are in bed they are no cover, on horseback they
are no protection from the wind and rain, and when
seated, they do not guard our legs from the damp
or the frost.”
Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation,
TDmperor of the Franks and Emperor of the Romans in
the eighth century.
192
Ivan hoe
the short cloaks continued in fashion down to the
time of which we treat, and particularly among the
princes of the House of Anjou. They were there¬
fore in universal use among Prince John’s court¬
iers; and the long mantle, which formed the upper
garment of the Saxons, was held in proportional de¬
rision.
The guests were seated at a table which groaned
under the quantity of good cheer. The numerous
cooks who attended on the Prince’s progress, having
exerted all their art in varying the forms in which
the ordinary provisions were served up, had suc¬
ceeded almost as well as the modern professors of
the culinary art in rendering them perfectly unlike
their natural appearance. Besides these dishes of
domestic origin, there were various delicacies
brought from foreign parts, and a quantity of rich
pastry, as well as of the simnel-bread and wastel
cakes, which were only used at the tables of the
highest nobility. The banquet was crowned with
the richest wines, both foreign and domestic.
But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were
not, generally speaking, an intemperate race. While
indulging themselves in the pleasures of the table,
they aimed at delicacy, but avoided excess, and were
apt to attribute gluttony and drunkenness to the
vanquished Saxons, as vices peculiar to their infer¬
ior station. Prince John, indeed, and those who
courted his pleasure by imitating his foibles, were
apt to indulge to excess in the pleasures of the
trencher and the goblet; and indeed it is well known
that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon
peaches and new ale. His conduct, however, was an
exception to the genera] manners of his country¬
men.
With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs
IVANHOE
193
to each other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld
the ruder demeanor of Athelstane and Cedric at a
banquet, to the form and fashion of which they were
unaccustomed. And while their manners were thus
tne subject of sarcastic observation, the untaught
Saxons unwittingly transgressed several of the arbi¬
trary rules established for the regulation of so¬
ciety. Now, it is well known, that a man may with
more impunity be guilty of an actual breach either
of real good breeding or of good morals, than ap¬
pear ignorant of the most minute point of fashion¬
able etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands
with a towel, instead of suffering the moisture to ex¬
hale by waving them gracefully in the air, incurred
more ridicule than his companion Athelstane, when
he swallowed to his own single share the whole of a
large pasty composed of the most exquisite foreign
delicacies, and termed at that time a Karum-pie.
When, however, it was discovered, by a serious
cross-examination, that the Thane of Coningsburgh
(or Franklin, as the Normans termed him) had no
idea what he had been devouring, and that he had
taken the contents of the Karum-pie for larks and
pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes and
nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an
ample share of the ridicule which would have been
more justly bestowed on his gluttony.
The long feast had at length its end ; and, while
the goblet circulated freely, men talked of the feats
of the preceding tournament, — of the unknown vic¬
tor in the archery games, of the Black Knight,
whose self-denial had induced him to withdraw from
the honors he had won, — and of the gallant Ivan-
Question : What did Athelstane and Cedric do to make
themselves appear ridiculous in the sight of the Normans
at the banquet?
194
IVANHOE
hoe, who had so dearly bought the honors of the
day. The topics were treated with military frank¬
ness, and the jest and laugh went round the hall.
The brow of Prince John alone was over-clouded
during these discussions; some overpowering care
seemed agitating his mind, and it was only when he
received occasional hints from his attendants, that
he seemed to take interest in what was passing
around him. On such occasions he would start up,
quaff a cup of wine as if to raise his spirits, and
'-hen mingle in the conversation by some observa¬
tion made abruptly or at random.
“We drink this beaker,” said he, “to the health
of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of tnis Passage of
Arms, and grieve that his wound renders him absent
from our board. — Let all fill to the pledge, and espe¬
cially Cedric of Rotherwood, the worthy father of
a son so promising.”
‘Wo, my lord,” replied Cedric, ‘standing up, and
placing on the table his untasted cup, “I yield not
the name of son to the disobedient youth, who at
once despises my commands, and relinquishes the
manners and customs of his fathers.”
“ ,Tis impossible/’ cried Prince John, with well-
feigned astonishment, “that so gallant a knight
should be an unworthy or disobedient son!”
“Yet, my lord/* answered Cedric, “so it is with
this Wilfred. He left my homely dwelling to min¬
gle with the gay nobility of your brother’s court,
where He learned to do those tricks of horseman¬
ship which you prize so highly. He left it contrary
to my wish and command; and in the days of Alfred
that would have been termed disobedience — aye, and
a crime severely punishable.”
“Alas! replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of
affected sympathy, “since your son was a follower
IVANHOE
195
of my unhappy brother, it need not be inquired
where or from whom he learned the lesson of filial
disobedience.”
Thus spake Prince John, willfully forgetting, that
pf all the sons of Henry the Second, though no one
was free from the charge, he himself had been most
distinguished for rebellion and ingratitude to his
father.
“I think,” said he after a moment’s pause, “that
my brother proposed to confer upon his favorite the
rich manor of Ivanhoe.”
“He did endow him with it,n answered Cedric;
“nor is it my least quarrel with my son, that he
stooped to hold, as a feudal vassal, the very domains
which his fathers possessed in free and independent
right.”
“We shall then have your willing sanction, good
Cedrick,” said Prince John, “to confer this fief upon
a person whose dignity will not be diminished by
holding land of the British crown. — Sir Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf,” he said, turning towards that
Baron, “I trust you will so keep the goodly Barony
of Ivanhoe, that Sir Wilfred shall not incur his
father’s farther displeasure by again entering upon
that fief.”
“By St. Anthony!” answered the black-brow’d
giant, “I will consent that your highness shall hold
me a Saxon, if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the best
that ever bore English blood, shall wrench from me
that gift with which your highness has graced me.”
■ “Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” re¬
plied Cedric, offended at a mode of expression by
which the Normans frequently expressed their hab¬
itual contempt of the English, “will do thee an hon¬
or as great as it is undeserved.”
196
Ivan hoe
Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince
John’s petulance and levity got the start.
“Assuredly/* said he, “my lords, the noble Cedric
speaks truth: and his race may claim precedence
over us as much in the length of their pedigrees as
the longitude of their cloaks.”
“They go before us indeed in the field — as deer
before dogs,” said Malvoisin.
“And with good right may they go before us —
forget not,” said the Prior Aymer, “the superior
decency and decorum of their manners.”
“Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,”
said De Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised
him a Saxon bride.
“Together with the courage and conduct,” said
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “by which they distin¬
guished themselves at Hastings and elsewhere.”
While, witlTsmooth and smiling cheek, the court¬
iers, each in turn, followed their Prince’s example,
and aimed a shaft of ridicule at Cedric, the face
of the Saxon Became inflamed with passion, and he
glanced his eyes fiercely from one to another, a's if
the quick succession of so many injuries had pre¬
vented his replying to them in turn; or, like a baited
bull, who. surrounded by his tormentors, is at a loss
to choose from among them the immediate object oi
his revenge. At length he spoke, in a voice halt
choked with passion; and, addressing himself tc
Prince John as the head and front of the offense
which he had received, “Whatever,” he said, “have
been the follies and vices of our race, a Saxon would
have been held nidering,”1 (the most emphatic tern:
for abject worthlessness) “who should in his owr
^‘There was nothing accounted so ignominious among the
Saxons as to merit this disgraceful epithet. Even William
the Conqueror, hated as he was by them, continued to draw
IVANHOE
197
lia.ll, and while his own wine-cup passed, have
jreated, or suffered to be treated, an unoffending
tuest as your highness has this day beheld me used ;
ind whatever was the misfortune of our fathers on
j.he field of Hastings, those may at least be silent,”
iere he looked at Front-de-Bceuf and the Templar,
l‘who have within these few hours once and again
;ost saddle and stirrup before the lance of a Saxon.”
“By my faith, a biting jest!” said Prince John.
‘How like you it, sirs? — Our Saxon subjects rise
in spirit and courage; become shrewd in wit, and
pold in bearing, in these unsettled times. — What say
ye, my lords? — By this good light, I hold it best to
take our galleys, and return to Normandy in time.”
“For fear of the Saxon?” said De Bracy, laugh¬
ing; “we should need no weapon but our hunting
spears to bring these boars to bay.”
“A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,” said
Fitzurse; — “and it were well,” he added, addressing
the Prince, “that your highness should assure the
worthy Cedric there is no insult intended him by
jests, which must sound but harshly in the ear of a
strailger.”
“Insult?” answered Prince John, resuming his
courtesy of demeanor; “I trust it will not be thought
that I could mean, or permit any, to be offered in my
pre:ence. Here! I fill my cup to Cedric himself,
since he refuses to pledge his son’s health.”
The cup went fc-ound amid the well-dissembled
applause of the courtiers, which, however, failed to
make the impression on the mind of the Saxon that
had been designed. He was not naturally acute of
a considerable army of Anglo Saxons to his standard, by
threatening to stigmatize those who stayed at home as
nidering. Bartholimus, I think, mentions a similar phrase
which had like influence on the Danes. L. T. (Scott’s note.)
198
Ivan hoe
perception, but those too much undervalued his un¬
derstanding who deemed that this flattering compli¬
ment would obliterate the sense of the prior insulv.
He was silent, however, when the royal pledge again
passed round, “To Sir Athelstane of Coningsburgh.”
The knight made his obeisance, and showed nis
sense of the honor by draining a huge goblet in
answer to it.
“And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to
be warmed with the wine which he had drank “hav¬
ing done justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray
of them some requital to our courtesy. — Worthy
Thane,” he continued, addressing Cedric, “may we
pray you to name to us some Norman whose mention
may least sully your mouth, and to wash down w’th
a goblet of wine all bitterness which the sound may
leave behind it?”
Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and glid¬
ing behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him
not to omit the opportunity of putting an end to
unkindness betwixt the two races, by naming Prin'ce
John. The. Saxon replied not to this polite insinua¬
tion, but, rising up, and filling his cup to the brim,
he addressed Prince John in these words : “Your
highness has required that I should name a Norman
deserving to be remembered at our banquet. Th's,
perchance, is a hard task, since it calls on the slave
to sing the praises of the master— upon the van¬
quished, while pressed by all the evils of conquest,
to sing the praises of the conqueror. Yet I will
name a Norman— the first in arms and in place— the
best and the noblest of his race. And the lips that
shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned fame,
I term false and dishonored, and will so maintain
them with my life.— I quaff this goblet to the health
of Richard the Lion-hearted!”
IVANHOE
199
Prince John, who had expected that his own name
would have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when
that of his injured brother was so unexpectedly in¬
troduced. He raised mechanically the wine-cup to
his lips, then instantly set it down, to view the de¬
meanor of the company at this unexpected proposal,
which many of them felt it as unsafe to oppose as to
comply with. Some of them, ancient and experi-
I enced courtiers, closely imitated the example of the
Prince himself, raising the goblet to their lips, and
again replacing it before them. There were many
who, with a more generous feeling, exclaimed,
“Long live King Richard! and may he be speedily
restored to us!” And some few, among whom were
Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain
suffered their goblets to stand untasted before them.
But no man ventured directly to gainsay a pledge
filled to the health of the reigning monarch.
Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute,
Cedric said to his companion, “Up, noble Athel-
stane! we have remained here long enough, since we
have requited the hospitable courtesy of Prince
John’s banquet. Those who wish to know further of
our rude Saxon manners must henceforth seek us
in the homes of our fathers, since we have seen
enough of royal banquets, and enough of Norman
courtesy.”
So saying, he arose and left the banqueting room,
followed by Athelstane, and by several other guests,
who partaking of the Saxon lineage, held themselves
insulted by the sarcasms of Prince John and his
courtiers.
“By the bones of St. Thomas,” said Prince John,
as they retreated, “the Saxon churls have borne off
the best of the day, and have retreated with tri¬
umph!”
200
Ivan hoe
“Conclamatum est, poculatum est,” said Prior
Aymer; “we have drunk and we have shouted, — it
were time we left our wine flagons.”
“The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to¬
night, that he is in such a hurry to depart,” said De
Bracy.
“Not so, Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; “but I
must move several miles forward this evening upon
my homeward journey.”
“They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a
whisper to Fitzurse; “their fears anticipate the
event, and this coward Prior is the first to shrink
from me.”
“Fear not, my lord,” said Waldemar; “I will show
nim such reasons as shall induce him to join us
when we hold our meeting at York. — Sir Prior,” he
said, “I must speak with you in private, before
you mount your palfrey.”
The other guests were now fast dispersing, with
the exception of those immediately attached to
Prince John’s faction, and his retinue.
“This, then, is the result of your advice,” said the
Prince, turning an angry countenance upon Fitz¬
urse; “that I should be bearded at my own board by
a drunken Saxon churl, and that, on the mere sound
of my brother’s name, men should fall off front me
as if I had the leprosy?”
“Have patience, sir,” replied his counselor; “I
might retort your accusation, and blame the incon¬
siderable levity which foiled my design, and misled
your own better judgment. But this is no time foi
recrimination. De Bracy and I will instantly go
among these shuffling cowards, and convince them
fhey have gone too far to recede.”
“It will be in vain,” said Prince John, pacing the
apartment with disordered steps, and expressing
Ivan hoe
201
himself with an agitation to which the wine he had
drank partly contributed — “It will be in vain— they
have seen the handwriting on the wall1 — they have
marked the paw of the lion in the sand — they have
heard his approaching roar shake the wood — noth¬
ing will reanimate their courage.”
“Would to God/’ said Fitzurse to De Bracy, “that
aught could reanimate his own ! His brother’s very
name is an ague to him. Unhappy are the counsel¬
ors of a prince, who wants fortitude and persever¬
ance alike in good and in evil!”
’Daniel V.
Question : In what way does this chapter prepare for
the second great place of action, the storming of the cas¬
tle?
CHAPTER XV
And yet lie thinks, — ha, ha, ha, ha, — he thinks
I am the tool and servant of his will.
Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble
His plots and base oppression must create,
I’ll shape myself a way to higher things.
And who will say ’tis wrong?
Basil, a Tragedy.
No spider ever took more pain's to repair the shat¬
tered meshes of his web, than did Waldemar Fitz-
urse to reunite and combine the scattered members
of Prince John’s cabal. Few of these were attached
to him from inclination, and none from personal re¬
gard. It was therefore necessary, that Fitzurse
should open to them new prospects of advantage,
and remind them of those which they at present en¬
joyed. To the young and wild nobles, he held out
the prospect of unpunished license and uncontrolled
revelry; to the ambitious, that of power, and to the
covetous, that of increased wealth and extended do¬
mains. The leaders of the mercenaries received a
donation in gold; an argument the most persuasive
to their minds, and without which all others would
have proved in vain. Promises were still more lib¬
erally distributed than money by this active agent;
and, in fine, nothing was left undone that could
determine the wavering, or animate the disheartened.
The return of King Richard he spoke of as an event al¬
together beyond the reach of probability; yet, when
he observed, from the doubtful looks and uncertain
answers which he received, that this was the ap¬
prehension by which the minds of his accomplices
were most haunted, he boldly treated that event,
should it really take place, as one which ought not
to alter their political calculations.
IVANHOE
203
I
“If Richard returns,” said Fitzurse, “he returns
to enrich his needy and impoverished crusaders at
the expense of those who did not follow him to the
Holy Land. He returns to call to a fearful reckon¬
ing, those who, during his absence, have done aught
that can be construed offense or encroachment upon
i either the laws of the land or the privileges of the
crown. He returns to avenge upon the Orders of
the Temple and the Hospital, the preference which
they showed to Philip of France during the wars in
the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, to punish as a
rebel every adherent of his brother Prince John.
Are ye afraid of his power?” continued the artful
confidant of that Prince; “we acknowledge him a
strong and valiant knight; but these are not the
days of King Arthur, when a champion could en¬
counter an army. If Richard indeed comes back, it
must be alone, — unfollowed — unfriended. The bones
of his gallant army have whitened the sands of Pal¬
estine. The few of his followers who have returned
have straggled hither like this Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
beggarded and broken men. — And what talk ye of
Richard’s right of birth?” he proceeded, in answer
to those who objected scruples on that head. “Is
Richard’s title of primogeniture more decidedly cer¬
tain than that of Duke Robert1 of Normandy, the
Conqueror’s eldest son? And yet William the Red,
and Henry, his second and third brothers, were suc¬
cessively preferred to him by the voice of the na¬
tion. Robert had every merit wTiich can be pleaded
Although Robert was the oldest son of William the
Conqueror, he could not gain the throne which he thought
belonged to him from right of birth. Fitzurse used this
example as encouragement to weak followers of John.
Question : Name six reasons that Fitzurse gives for
the nobles’ adhering to the cause of Prince John.
204
IVANHOE
for Richard; he was a bold knight, a good leader,
generous to his friends and to the church, ana, to
crown the whole, a crusader and a conqueror of tho
Holy Sepulcher; and yet he died a blind and miser¬
able prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because ht op¬
posed himself to the will of the people, who chose
that he should not rule over them. It is our right,”
he said, “to choose from the blood royal the prince
who is best qualified to hold the supreme power —
that is,” said he, correcting himself, “him whose
election will best promote the interests of the no¬
bility. In personal qualifications,” he added, “it was
possible that Prince John might be inferior to his
brother Richard, but when it was considered that
the latter returned with the sword of vengeance in
his hand, while the former held out rewards, im¬
munities, privileges, wealth, and honors, it couia
not be doubted which was the king whom in wisdom
the nobility were called on to support.”
These, and many more arguments, some adapted
to the peculiar circumstances of those whom he ad¬
dressed, had the expected weight with the nobles
of Prince John’s faction. Mpst of them consented
to attend the proposed meeting at York, for the pur¬
pose of making general arrangements for placing
the crown upon the head of Prince John.
It was late at night, when, worn out and ex¬
hausted with his various exertions, however grati¬
fied with the result, Fitzurse, returning to the Cas¬
tle of Ashby, met with De Bracy, who had exchanged
his banqueting garments for a short green kirtle,
with hose of the same cloth and color, a leathern
cap or headpiece, a short sword, a horn slung over
his shoulder, a long-bow in his hand, and a bundle
of arrows stuck in his belt. Had Fitzurse met this
figure in an outer apartment, he would have passed
IVANHOE
205
him without notice, as one of the yeomen of the
guard; but finding him in the inner hall, he looked
at him with more attention, and recognized the Nor¬
man knight in the dress of an English yeoman.
“What mummery is this, De Bracy?” said Fitz-
urse, somewhat angrily; “is this a time for Christ¬
mas gambols and quaint markings, when the fate of
our master, Prince John, is on the very verge of
decision? Why hast thou not been, like me, among
these heartless cravens, whom the very name of
King Richard terrifies, as it is said to do the chil¬
dren of the Saracens ?”
“I have been attending to mine own business,” an¬
swered De Bracy calmly, “as you, Fitzurse, have
been minding yours.”
“I minding mine own business!” echoed Walde-
mar; “I have been engaged in that of Prince John,
our joint patron.”
“As if thou hadst any other reason for that,
Waldemar,” said De Bracy, “than the promotion of
thine own individual interest? Come, Fitzurse, we
know each other — ambition is thy pursuit, pleasure
is mine, and they become our different ages. Of
Prince John thou thinkest as I do; that he is too
weak to be a determined monarch, too tyrannical to
be an easy monarch, too insolent and presumptuous
to be a popular monarch, and too fickle and timid
to be long a monarch of any kind. But he is a mon¬
arch by whom Fitzurse and De Bracy hope to rise
and thrive; and therefore you aid him with your
policy, and I with the lances of my Free Compan¬
ions.”
“A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse impatiently;
“playing the fool in the very moment of utter neces¬
sity.— What on earth dost thou purpose by this ob-
surd disguise at a moment so urgent?”
206
IVANHOE
“To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy coolly,
“after the manner of the tribe of Benjamin.”
“The tribe of Benjamin?” said Fitzurse; “I com¬
prehend thee not.”
“Wert thou not in presence yester-even,’’ said De
Bracy, “when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a
tale' in reply to the romance which was sung by the
Minstrel? — He told how, long since in Palestine, a
deadly feud arose between the tribe of Benjamin
and the rest of the Israelitish nation; and how they
cut to pieces well-nigh all the chivalry of that tribe ;
and how they swore by our blessed Lady that they
would not permit those who remained to marry in
their lineage; and how they became grieved for
their vow, and sent to consult his holiness the Pope
how they might be absolved from it; and how, by
the advice of the Holy Father, the youth of the tribe
of Benjamin carried off from a superb tournament
all the ladies who were there present, and thus won
them wives without the consent either of their
brides or their brides’ families.”
“I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “though
either the Prior or thou hast made some singular
alterations in date and circumstances.”
“I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “that I mean to pur¬
vey me a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Ben¬
jamin; which is as much as to say, that in this same
equipment I will fall upon that herd of Saxon bul¬
locks, who have this night left the castle, and carry
off from them the lovely Rowena.”
“Art thou mad, De Bracy?” said Fitzurse. “Be¬
think thee that, though the men be Saxons, they are
rich and powerful and regarded with the more re¬
spect by their countrymen, that wealth and honor
are but the lot of few of Saxon descent.”
1 Judges XXL
IVANHOE
207
“And should belong to none,” said De Bracy; “the
work of the Conquest should be completed.”
“This is no time for it at ieast,” said Fitzurse;
“the approaching crisis renders the favor of the
multitude indispensable, and Prince John cannot re¬
fuse justice to any one who injures their favorites.”
“Let him grant it, if he dare,” said De Bracy;
“he will soon see the difference betwixt the support
of such a lusty lot of spears as mine, and that of
a heartless mob of Saxon churls. Yet I mean no
immediate discovery of myself. Seem I not in this
garb as bold a forester as ever blew horn? The
blame of the violence shall rest with the outlaws
of the Yorkshire forests. I have sure spies on the
' Saxons’ motions — To-night they sleep in the convent
of St. Wittol, or Withold, or whatever they call that
l, churl of a Saxon saint at Burton-on-Trent. Next
day’s march brings them within our reach, and,
falcon-ways, we swoop on them at once. Presently
after I ‘will appear in mine own shape, play the
i courteous knight, rescue the unfortunate and af¬
flicted fair one from the hands of the rude ravish-
Ijers, conduct her to Front-de-Bceuf’s Castle, or to
Normandy, if it 'should be necessary, and produce
;her not again to her kindred until she be the bride
i|and dame of Maurice de Bracy.”
“A marvelous sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “and, as
1 think, not entirely of thine own device. — Come,
be frank, De Bracy, who aided thee in the inven¬
tion? and who is to assist in the execution? for, as
I think, thine own band lies as far off as York.’’
“Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy,
“it was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that
shaped out the enterprise, which the adventure of
the men of Benjamin suggested to me. He is to
aid me in the onslaught, and he and his followers
208
Ivanhoe
will personate the outlaws, from whom my valor-
out arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the
lady.”
“By my halidom,” said Fitzurse, “the plan was
worthy of your united wisdom! and thy prudence.
De Bracy, is most especially manifested in the proj¬
ect of leaving the lady in the hands of thy worthy
confederate. Thou mayst, I think, succeed in taking
her from her Saxon friends, but how thou wilt re¬
scue her afterwards from the clutches of Bois-Guil-
bert seems considerably more doubtful — He is a fal¬
con well accustomed to pounce on a partridge, and to
hold his prey fast.”
“He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “and cannot
therefore rival me in my plan of wedding this heir¬
ess; — and to attempt aught dishonorable against the
intended wife of De Bracy — By Heaven! were he a
whole Chapter of hils Order in his single person, he
dared not do me such an injury!”
“Then since naught that I can say,” said Fitzurse,
“will put this folly from thy imagination, (for well
I know the obstinacy of thy disposition,) at least
waste as little time as possible — let not thy folly be
lasting as well as untimely.”
“I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “that it will be
the work of a few hours, and I shall be at York at
the head of my daring and valorous fellows, as
ready to support any bold design as thy policy can
b~e to form one. — But I hear my comrades assem¬
bling, and the steeds stamping and neighing in the
outer court. — Farewell. — I go, like a true knight, to
win the smiles of beauty.”
“Like a true knight?” repeated Fitzurse, looking
after him; “like a fool, I should say, or like a child,
Question s What is the weakness in De Bracy ’s plan
for seizing Rowena?
IVANHOE
209
vho will leave the most serious and needful occupa¬
tion, to chase the down of the thistle that drives
3ast him. — But it is with such tools that I must
vork; — and for whose advantage? — For that of a
Prince as unwise as he is profligate, and as likely to
)e an ungrateful master as he has already proved
i rebellious son and an unnatural brother. — But he
' — he, too, is but one of the tools with which I labor;
and, proud as he is, should he presume to separate
his interests from mine, this is a secret which he
shall soon learn/’
The meditations of the statesman were here in¬
terrupted by the voice of the Prince from an interi¬
or apartment, calling out, “Noble Waldemar Fitz-
urse!” and, with bonnet doffed, the future Chan-
celor (for to such high preferment did the wily Nor-
!man aspire) hastened to receive the orders of the
future sovereign.
CHAPTER XVI
Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well ;
Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days,
Prayer all his business — all his pleasure praise.
Parnell, j
The reader cannot have forgotten that the event
of the tournament was decided by the exertions of
an unknown knight, whom, on account of the pas¬
sive and indifferent conduct which he had mani¬
fested on the former part of the day, the spectators
had entitled, Le Noir Faineant. This knight had left
the field abruptly when the victory was achieved;'
and when he was called upon to receive the reward
of his valor, he was nowhere to be found. In the
meantime, while summoned by heralds and by trum¬
pets, the knight was holding his course northward,
avoiding all frequented paths, and taking the shortest
road through the woodlands. He paused for the
night at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinary
route, where, however, he obtained from a wander¬
ing minstrel news of the event of the tourney.
On the next morning the knight departed early,
with the intention of making a long journey; the
condition of his horse, which he had carefully
spared during the preceding morning, being such as
enabled him to travel far without the necessity of
much repose. Yet his purpose was baffled by the
devious paths through which he rode, so that when
evening closed upon him, he only found himself on
the frontiers of the West Riding of Yorkshire. By
Question : Is this chapter in any way connected with
the preceding chapters?
IVANHOE
211
this time both horse and man required refreshment,
and it became necessary, moreover, to look out for
some place in which they might spend the night,
which was now fast approaching.
The place where the traveler found himself
seemed unpropitious for obtaining either shelter or
refreshment, and he was likely to be reduced to the
usual expedient of knights-errant, who on such oc¬
casions, turned their horses to graze and laid them¬
selves down to meditate on their lady-mistress, with
an oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knight either
had no mistress to meditate upon, or, being as indiffer¬
ent in love as he seemed to be in war, was not suf¬
ficiently occupied by passionate reflections upon her
beauty and cruelty, to be able to parry the effects
of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act as a
substitute for the solid comforts of a bed and sup¬
per. He felt dissatisfied, therefore, when, looking
around, he found himself deeply involved in woods,
through which indeed there were many open glades,
and some paths, but such as seemed only formed by
the numerous herds of cattle which grazed in the
forest, or by the animals of chase, and the hunters
who made prey of them.
The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed
his course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire
hills on his left, and every effort which he might
make to pursue his journey was as likely to lead him
out of his road as to advance him on his route. Aft¬
er having in vain endeavored to select the most
beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the cottage
of some herdsman, or the silvan lodge of a forester,
and having repeatedly found himself totally unable
to determine on a choice, the knight resolved to
trust to the sagacity of his horse; experience hav¬
ing, on former occasions, made him acquainted with
212
Ivan hoe
the wonderful talent possessed by these animals for
extricating themselves and their riders on such
emergencies.
The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long
a day’s journey under a rider cased in mail, had no
sooner found, by the slackened reins, that he was
abandoned to his own guidance, than he seemed to
assume new strength and spirit; and whereas for¬
merly he had scarce replied to the spur, otherwise
than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confi¬
dence reposed in him, pricked up his ears, and as¬
sumed, of his own accord, a more lively motion. The
path which the animal adopted rather turned off
from the course pursued by the knight during the
day; but as the horse seemed confident in his choice,
the rider abandoned himself to his discretion.
He was justified by the event; for the footpath
soon after appeared a little wider and more worn,
and Hie tinkle of a small bell gave the knight to un¬
derstand that he was in the vicinity of some chapel
or hermitage.
Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf,
on the opposite side of which, a rock, rising abruptly
from a gently sloping plain, offered its gray and
weather-beaten front to the traveler. Ivy mantled
its sides in some places, and in others oa*ks and
holly bushes, whose roots found nourishment in the
cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below,
like the plumage of the warrior over his steel hel¬
met, giving grace to that whose chief expression
was terror. At the bottom of the rock, and leaning,
as it were against it, was constructed a rude hut,
built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the
neighboring forest, and secured against the weather
by having its crevices stuffed with moss mingled
with clay. The stem of a young fir-tree lopped of
Ivan hoe
213
its branches, with a piece of wood tied across near
the top, was planted upright by the door, as a rude
emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance on
the right hand, a fountain of the purest water
trickled out of the rock, and was received in a hol¬
low stone, which labor had formed into a rustic ba¬
sin. Escaping from thence, the stream murmured
down the descent by a channel which its course had
long worn, and so wandered through the little plain
to lose itself in the neighboring wood.
Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very
small chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in.
The building, when entire, had never been above
sixteen feet long by twelve feet in breadth, and the
roof, low in proportion, rested upon four concen¬
tric arches which sprung from the four corners of
the building, each supported upon a short and heavy
pillar. The ribs of two of these arches remained,
though the roof had fallen down betwixt them; over
the others it remained entire. The entrance to this
ancient place of devotion was under a very low round
arch, ornamented by several courses of that zigzag
molding, resembling shark’s teeth, which appears so
often in the more ancient Saxon architecture. A bel¬
fry rose above the porch on four small pillars, within
which hung the green and weather-beaten bell, the
feeble sounds of which had been some time before
heard by the Black Knight.
The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmer¬
ing in twilight before the eyes of the traveler, giv¬
ing him good assurance of lodging for the night;
since it was a special duty of those hermits who
dwelt in the woods, to exercise hospitality towards
benighted and bewildered passengers.
Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider
minutely the particulars which we have detailed,
214
IVANHOE
but thanking St. Julian (the patron of travelers)
who had sent him good harborage, he leaped from
hts horse and assailed the door of the hermitage
with the butt of his lance, in order to arouse atten¬
tion and gain admittance.
It was some time before he obtained any answer,
and the reply, when made, was unpropitious.
“Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer
given by a deep, hoarse voice from within the hut,
“and disturb not the servant of God and St. Dunstan
in his evening devotions.”
“Worthy father,” answered the knight, “here is
a poor wanderer bewildered in these woods, who
gives thee the opportunity of exercising thy charity
and hospitality.”
“Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the
hermitage, “it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dun¬
stan to destine me for the object of those virtues, in¬
stead of the exercise thereof. I have no provisions
here which even a dog would share with me, and a
horse of any tenderness of nurture would despise
my couch — pass therefore on thy way, and God
speed thee.”
“But how,” replied the knight, “is it possible for
me to find my way through such a wood as this, when
darkness is coming on? I pray you, reverend father,
as you are a Christian, to undo your door, and at
least point out to me my road.”
“And I pray you, good Christian brother,” re¬
plied the anchorite, “to disturb me no more. You
have already interrupted me, pater, two aves and a
credo, which I, miserable sinner that I am, should,
according to my vow, have said before moonrise.”
“The road — the road!” vociferated the knight,
“give me directions for the road, if I am to expect
no more from thee.”
IVANHOE
215
“The road,” replied the hermit, “is easy to hit.
The path from the wood leads to a morass, and
.rom thence to a ford, which, as the rains have
ibated, may now be passable. Wlien thou nast
crossed the ford, thou wilt take care of thy footing
ip the left bank, as it is somewhat precipitous; and
the path, which hangs over the river, has lately, as
. learn, (for I seldom leave the duties of my chapel),
*iven way in sundry places. Thou wilt then Keep
straight forward - ”
“A broken path — a precipice — a ford, and a
morass!” said the knight, interrupting him, — “Sir
Permit, if you were the holiest that ever wore beard
>r told beads, you shall scarce prevail on me to hold
;his road to-night. I tell thee, that thou, who lives!
oy the charity of the country — ill-deserved, as I
loubt it is — hast no right to refuse shelter to the
wayfarer when in distress. Either open the door
quickly, or, by the rood, I will beat it down ana
make entry for myself.”
“Friend wayfarer,” replied the hermit, “be not
importunate; if thou puttest me to use the carnal
weapon in mine own defense, it will be e’en the
worse for you.”
At this moment a distant noise of barking arid
growling, which the traveler had for some time
heard, became extremely loud and furious, and
made the knight suppose that the hermit, alarmed
by his threat of making forcible entry, had called
the dog-; who made this clamor to aid him in his de¬
fense, out of some inner recess in which they had
been kenneled. Incensed at this preparation on the
hermit’s part for making good his inhospitable pur¬
pose, the knight struck the door so furiously with
’Telling off beads on the rosary as prayers are said.
216
1VANH0E
his foot, that posts as well as staples shook with
violence.
The anchorite, not caring again to expose his
door to a similar shock, now called out aloud, “Pa¬
tience, patience — spare thy strength, good traveler,
and I will presently undo the door, though, it may
be, my doing so will be little to thy pleasure/'
The door accordingly was opened, and the hermit,
a large, strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and
hood, girt with a rope of rushes, stood before the
knight. He had in one hand a lighted torch, or
link, and in the other a baton of crab-tree, so thick
and heavy, that it might well be termed a club. Two
large, shaggy dogs, half greyhound, half mastiff, v
stood ready to rush upon the traveler as soon as the
door should be opened. But when the torch glanced
upon the lofty crest and golden spurs of the knight,
who stood without, the hermit, altering probably his
original intentions, repressed the rage of his aux¬
iliaries, and, changing his tone to a sort of churlish
courtesy, invited the knight to enter his hut, making
excuse for his unwillingness to open his lodge after
sunset, by alleging the multitude of robbers and out¬
laws who were abroad, and who gave no honor to
Our Lady of St. Dunstan, nor to those holy men
who spent life in their service.
“The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the
knight, looking around him, and seeing nothing but
a bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak, a
missal ; with a rough-hewn table and two stools, and
one or two clumsy articles of furniture— “the pov¬
erty of your cell should seem a sufficient defense
against any risk of thieves, not to mention the aid
°f two trusty dogs,1 large and strong enough, I think.
JIt was against the law to keep such dogs as these with¬
out the permission of the keeper of the forest.
Ivan hoe
217
j to pull down a stag, and of course, to match with
I most men.”
“The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit,
“hath allowed me the use of these animals, to pro¬
tect my solitude until the times shall mend.”
Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted
branch of iron which served for a candlestick; and,
j placing the oaken trivet before the embers of the
fire, which he refreshed with some dry wood, he
placed a stool upon one side of the table, and beck¬
oned to the knight to do the same upon the other.
They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at
each other, each thinking in his heart that he had
j; seldom seen a stronger or more athletic figure than
was placed opposite to him.
“Reverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking
I long and fixedly at his host, “were it not to interrupt
your devout meditations, I would pray to know three
things of your holiness; first, where I am to put my
horse?— secondly, what I can have for supper?
thirdly, where I am to take up my couch for the
night?” , .
“I will reply to ydh,” said the hermit, “with my
finger, it being against my rule to speak by words
where signs can answer the purpose.” So saying, he
pointed successively to two corners of $he hut.
“Your stable,” said he, “is there — your bed there;
and,” reaching down a platter with two handfuls of
parched pease upon it from the neighboring shelf,
and placing it upon the table, he added, your sup¬
per is here.”
The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving
the hut, brought in his horse, (which in the interim
he had fastened to a tree.) unsaddled him with much
attention, and spread upon the steed's weary back
his own mantle.
218
IVANHOE
The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to
compassion by the anxiety as well as address which
the stranger displayed in tending his horse; for,
muttering something about provender left for the
.keeper’s palfrey, he dragged out of a recess a bundle
of forage, which he spread before the knight’s
charger, and immediately afterwards shook down a
quantity of dried fern in the corner which he had
assigned for the rider’s couch. The knight returned
him thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty none,
both resumed their seats by the table, whereon stood
the trencher of pease placed between them. The
hermit, after a long grace, which had once been
Latin, but of which original language few traces re¬
mained, excepting here and there the long rolling
termination of some word or phrase, set example
to his guest, by modestly putting into a very large
mouth, furnished with teeth which might have ranked
with those of a boar both in sharpness, and white¬
ness, some three or four dried pease, a miserable
grist as it seemed for so large and able a mill.
The knight, in order to follow so laudable an ex¬
ample, laid aside his helmet, his corselet, and the
greater part of his armor, and showed to the hermit
a head thick-curled with yellow hair, high features,
blue eyes, remarkably bright and sparkling, a mouth
well formed, having an upper lip clothed with mus¬
taches darker than his hair, and bearing altogether
the look of a bold, daring, and enterprising man,
with which his strong form well corresponded.
The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confi¬
dence of his guest, threw back his cowl, and showed
a round bullet head belonging to a man in the prime
of life. His close-shaven crown, surrounded by a
circle of stiff curled black hair, had something the
appearance of a parish pinfold begirt by its high
IVANHOE
219
hedge. The features expressed nothing of monastic
austerity, or of ascetic privations; on the contrary,
it was a bold bluff countenance, with broad black
eyebrows, a well-turned forehead, and cheeks as
round and vermiiion as those of a trumpeter, from
which descended a long and curly black beard. Such
a visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man,
spoke rather of sirloins and haunches, than of pease
and pulse. This incongruity did not escape the
guest. After he had with great difficulty accom¬
plished the mastication of a mouthful of the dried
pease, he found it absolutely necessary to request his
pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor;
who replied to his request by placing before him a
large can of' the purest water from the fountain.^
“It is from the well of St. Dunstan, ’ said he, in
which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred
heathen Danes and Britons— blessed be his name!”
And applying his black beard to the pitcher, he took
a draught much more moderate in quantity than his
encomium seemed to warrant.
<fIt seems to me, reverend father,” said the knight,
“that the small morsels which you eat, together with
this holy, but somewhat thin beverage, have thriven
with you marvelously. You appear a man more fit
to win the ram at a w restling match, or the ring at
a bout at quarter-staff, or the bucklers at a sword¬
play, than to linger out your time in this desolate
wilderness, saying masses, and living upon parched
pease and cold water.”
“Sir knight,” answered the hermit, “your thoughts,
like those of the ignorant laity, are according to
the flesh. It has pleased Our Lady and my patron
saint to bless the pittance to which t restrain my-
Question: What leads the knight to believe that the
hermit is in disguise?
220
IVANHOE
self, even as the pulse and water was blessed to thel
children Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego, whc*
drank the same rather than defile themselves with
wine and meats which were appointed them by fhe^
ing of the Saracens.”1 2 j
“Hloly father,” said the knight, “upon whose,]
countenance it hath pleased Heaven to work suchr
a miracle, permit a sinful layman to crave thy
name?” :
<rThou mayest call me,” answered the hermit, “the
Clerk" of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these
parts — they add, it is true, the epithet holy, but 1
stand not upon that, as being unworthy of such addi¬
tion. — And now, valiant knight, may I pray ye for
the name of my honorable guest?”
“Truly,” said the knight, “Holy Clerk of Cop¬
manhurst, men call me in these parts the Black
Knight, — many, sir, add to it the epithet of Slug¬
gard, whereby I am no way ambitious to be distin¬
guished.”
The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling
at his guest’s reply.
“I see,” said he, “Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou
art a man of prudence and of counsel ; and moreover,
I see that my poor monastic fare likes thee not, ac¬
customed, perhaps, as thou hast been, to the license
of courts and of camps, and the luxuries of cities;
and now I bethink me, Sir Sluggard, that when the
charitable keeper of this forest-walk left these dogs
for my protection, and also those bundles of forage,
he left me also some food, which, being unfit for my
1 Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, was referred to as a
Saracen after tbe custom of that day of calling everyone
foreign to the faith a Saracen. Scott slyly makes fun
here.
2Clergy, or educated man.
IVANHOE
221
ise. the very recollection of it had escaped me amid
ny more weighty meditations.’"
“I dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight; “I
vas convinced that there was better food in the cell,
loly Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl. — Your
zeeper is ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld
hy grinders contending with these pease, and thy
hroat flooded with this uncongenial element, could
!;ee thee doomed to such horse-provender and horse-
beverage,” (pointing to the provisions upon the
able), “and refrain from mending thy cheer. Let
is see the keeper’s bounty, therefore, without delay.”
The hermit cast a wistful look upon' the knight, in
vhich there was a sort of comic expression of hesi-
:ation, as if uncertain how far he should act pru-
lenfly intrusting his guest. There was, however, as
nuch of bold frankness in the knight’s countenance as
vas possible to be expressed by features. His smile.
:oo, had something in it irresistibly comic, and gave
an assurance of faith and loyalty, with which his
host could not refrain from sympathizing.
After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit
went to the further side of the hut, and opened a
hutch, which was concealed with great care and
some ingenuity. Out of the recesses of a dark closet,
into which this aperture gave admittance, he brought
a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter of unusual
dimensions. This mighty dish he placed before his
iguest, who, using his poniard to cut it open, lost no
time in making himself acquainted with its contents.
“How long is it since the good keeper has been
[here?” said the knight to his host, after . having
swallowed several hasty morsels of this reinforce¬
ment to the hermit’s good cheer.
“About two months,” answered the father, hastily.
“By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “every-
222
IVANHOE
thing in your hermitage is miraculous, Holy Clerk!
for I would have been sworn that the fat buck which
furnished the venison had been running on foot
within the week/’
The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this
observation; and, moreover, he made but a poor
figure while gazing on the diminution of the pasty^
on which his guest was making desperate inroads; a
warfare in which his previous profession of absti¬
nence left him no pretext for joining.
“'I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the
knight, stopping short of a sudden, “and I bethink
me it is a custom there that every host who entertains
a guest shall assure him of the wholesomeness of his
food, by partaking of it along with him. Far be it
from me to suspect so holy a man of aught inhospi¬
table ; nevertheless I will be highly bound to you
would you comply with this Eastern custom.”
“To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight,
I will for once depart from my rule,” replied the
hermit. And as there were no forks in those days,
his clutches were instantly in the bowTels of the pasty.
The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed
matter of rivalry between the guest and the enter¬
tainer which should display the best appetite; and
although the former had probably fasted longest, yet
the hermit fairly surpassed him.
“Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger
was appeased, “I would gage my good horse yonder
against a zecchin, that that same honest keeper to
whom we are obliged for the venison has left thee a
stoup of wine, or a runlet of canary, or some such
trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. This would
be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy to
dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite; yet,
I think, were you to search yonder crypt once more,
IVANHOE
223
you would find that I am right in my conjecture.”
The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning
to the hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which
might contain about four quarts. He also brought
forth two large drinking cups, made out ot the
horn of the urus, and hooped with silver. Having
made this goodly provision for washing down the
supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious
scruple necessary on his part; but filling both cups,
and saying, in the Saxon fashion, “Waes hael, Sir
Sluggish Knight!” he emptied his own at a draught.
“Drink hael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst !” an¬
swered the warrior, and did his host reason in a
similar brimmer.
“Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first
cup was swallowed, “I cannot but marvel that a man
possessed of such thews and sinews as thirfe, and
who therewithal shows the talent of so goodly a
trencher-man, should think of abiding by himself in
this wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitter to
keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and drink¬
ing of the strong, than to live here upon pulse and
water, or even upon the charity of the keeper. At
least were I as thou, I should find myself both dis¬
port and plenty out of the king’s deer. There is
many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck will
never be missed that goes to the use of St. Dunstan’s
chaplain.”
“Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “these
are dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear
them. I am true hermit to the king and law, and
were I to spoil my liege’s game. I should be sure of
the prison, and an my gown saved me not, were in
some peril of hanging.”
“Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight,
“I would take my walk by moonlight, when foresters
224
IVANHOE
and keepers were warm in bed, and ever and anon,
— as I pattered my prayers, — -1 would let fly a shaft
among the herds of dun deer that feed in the glades
— Resolve me, Holy Clerk, hast thou never practiced
such a pastime?”
friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, ‘‘thou
hast seen all that can concern thee of my housekeep¬
ing, and something more than he deserves who takes
up his quarters by violence. Credit me, it is better
to enjoy the good which God sends thee, than to be
impertinently curious how it comes. Fill thy cup,
and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, by further
impertinent inquiries, put me to show that thou
could'sf hardly have made good thy lodging had I
been earnest to oppose thee.”
“By, my faith,” said the knight, “thou makest me
more curious than ever ! Thou art the most mysteri¬
ous hermit I ever met; and I will know more of th^e
ere we part. As for thy threats, know, holy man,
thou speakest to one whose trade it is to find out
danger wherever it is to be met with.”
“Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the
hermit; “respecting thy valor much, but deeming
wondrous slightly of thy discretion. If thou wilt
take equal arms with me, I will give thee, in all
friendship and brotherly love, such sufficing penance
and complete absolution, that thou shalt not for the
next twelve months sin the sin of excess of curios¬
ity.”
The knight pledged him, and desired him to name
his weapons.
“There is none,” replied the hermit, “from the
scissors of Delilah,1 and the tenpenny nail of Jael,2
^ife of Sampson. Judges XVI.
2Wife of Heleer. She slew Siserd by driving a nail jnto
his temples, Judges IV, 18-21.
IVANHOE
225
to the scimeter of Goliath,1 at which I am not a
match for thee — But, if I am to make the election,
what sayst thou, good friend, to these trinkets ?”
Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took
out from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers,
such as were used by the yeomanry of the period.
The knight, who watched his motions, observed that
this second place of concealment was furnished with
two or three good long-bows, a crossbow, a bundle
of bolts for the latter, and baif-a-dozen sheaves of
arrows for the former. A harp, and other matters
of a very uncanonical appearance, were also visible
when this dark recess was opened.
“I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “I will
ask thee no more offensive questions. The contents
of that cupboard are an answer to all my inquiries ;
and I see a weapon there” (here he stooped and took
out the harp) “on which I would more gladly prove
my skill with thee, than at the sword and buckler.”
“I hope, Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “thou hast
given no good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard.
I do promise thee I suspect thee grievously. Never¬
theless, thou art my guest, and I wiil not put thy
manhood to the proof without thine own free will.
Sit thee down, then, and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing,
and be merry. If thou knowesf ever a good lay.
thou shalt be welcome to a nook of pasty at Cop-
manhurst so long as I serve the chapel of St. Dun-
stan, which, please God, shall be till I change my
grey covering for one of green turf. But come, fill
a flagon, for it will crave some time to tune the
harp; and naught pitches the voice and sharpens the
ear like a cup of wine. For my part, I love to feel
the grape at my very finger-ends before they make
the harp-strings tinkle.”
8Philistine giant killed by David I. Samuel XVII,
CHAPTER XVII
At eve, within yon studious nook,
I ope my brass-embossed book,
Portray’d with many a holy deed
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed ;
Then, as my taper waxes dim,
Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn.
Who but would cast his pomp away,
To take my staff and amice gray.
And to the world’s tumultuous stage
Prefer the peaceful HermitageF
Wakton.
Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial
hermit,' with which his guest/ willingly complied, he
found it no easy matter to bring the harp to harm¬
ony.
“Methinks, holy father/’ said he, “the instru¬
ment wants one string, and the rest have been some¬
what misused.”
“Ay, mark’st thou that?” replied the hermit; “that
shows thee a master of the craft. Wine and was¬
sail/” he added, gravely casting up his eyes- -“all
the (fault of wine and wassail! I told Allan-a-
Dale/ the northern minstrel, that he would damage
the harp if he touched it after the seventh cup, but
he would not be controlled — Friend, I drink to thy
successful performance.”
So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity,
at the same time shaking his head at the intemper¬
ance of the Scottish harper.
’“All readers, however slightly acquainted with the black
letter, must recognize, in Clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar
Tuck, the buxom Confessor of Robin Hood’s gang, the Cur-
tal Friar of Fountain’s Abbey” — 'Scott.
2The minstrel of Robin Hood’s out-law band.
IVANHOE
227
The knight, in the meantime, had brought the
strings into some order, and after a short prelude,
isked his host whether he would choose a sivente in
the language of oc, or a lai in the language of out,
ir a virelui, or a ballad in the vulgar English,
j “A ballad, a ballad,” said the hermit, “against
all the ocs and ouis of France. Downright English
am I, Sir Knight, and downright English was my
patron St. Dunstan, and scorned oc and oui, as he
would have scorned the parings of the devil’s hoof —
downright English alone shall be sung in this cell.”
“I will assay, then,” said the knight, “a ballad
composed by a Saxon glee-man, whom I knew In
Holy Land.”
It speedily appeared, that if the knight was not a
complete master of the minstrel art, his taste for it
had at least been cultivated under the best instruc¬
tors. Art had taught him to soften the faults of a
voice which had little compass, and was naturally
rough rather than mellow, and, in short, had done
all tnat culture can do in supplying natural deficien¬
cies. R,is performance, therefore, might have been
termed very respectable by abler judges than the
hermit, especially as the knight threw into the notes
now a degree of spirit, and now of plaintive en¬
thusiasm, which gave force and energy to the verses
which he sung.
THE CRUSADER’S RETURN
1
High deeds achieved of knightly fame.
From Palestine the champion came;
The cross upon his shoulders borne.
Rattle and blast had dimm’d and torn.
Each dint upon his batter’d shie'd
Was token of a foughten field;
And thus, beneath his lady’s bower.
He sung, as fell the twilight hour ; —
228
Ivan hoe
2
“Joy to the fair! — thy knight behold,
Return’d from yonder land of gold ;
No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need,
Save his good arms, and battle-steed ;
His spurs, to dash against a foe,
His lance and sword to lay him low ;
Such all the trophies of his toil,
Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile !
3
“Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight
Her favor fired to feats of might ;
Unnoted shall she not remain,
Where meet the bright and noble train ;
Minstrel shall sing and herald tell —
‘Mark yonder maid of beauty well,
’Tis she for whose bright eyes was won
The listed field at Askalon !
4
“ ‘Note well her smile ! — it edged the blade
Which fifty wives to widows made,
When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell,
Iconium’s turban’d Soldan1 fell.
Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow
Half shows, half shades her neck of snow?
Twines not of them one golden thread,
But for its sake a Paynim bled.’
5
“Joy to the fair! — my name unknown,
Each deed, and all its praise thine own ;
Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate,
The night dew falls, the hour is late.
Inured to Syria’s glowing breath,
I feel the north breeze chill as death ;
Let grateful love quell maiden shame,
And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.”
During this performance, the hermit demeaned
himself much like a first-rate critic of the present
IVANHOE
229
day at a new opera. He reclined back upon his
seat, with his eyes half shut; now, folding his hands
and twisting his thumbs, he seemed absorbed in at¬
tention, and anon, balancing his expanded palms, he
gently nourished them in time to the music. At one
or two favorite cadences, he threw in a little assist¬
ance of his own, where the knight’s voice seemed un-
I able 10 carry the air so high as his worshipful taste
approved. When the song was ended, the anchorite
emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung.
“And yet,” said he, “I think my Saxon country¬
men had herded long enough with the Normans, to
fall into the tone of their melancholy ditties. What
took the honest knight from home? or what could
he expect but to find his mistress agreeably engaged
with a rival on his return, and his serenade, as they
call it, as little regarded as the cater-wauhng of a
cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink
this cup to thee, to the success of all true lovers — I
rear you are none,” he added on ooservmg that the
knight (whose brain began to be heated with these
repeated draughts) qualified his flagon from the
water pitcher.
“Why,” said the knight, “did you not tell me that
this water was from the well of your blessed patron,
St. Dunstan?”
“Ay, truly,” said the hermit, “and, many a hun¬
dred of pagans did he baptize there, but I never
heard that he drank any of it. Everything should
be put to its proper use in this world. St. Dun.:tan
knew, as well as any one, the prerogatives of a jovial
friar.”
And so saying, he reached the harp, and enter¬
tained his guest with the following characteristic
230
Ivan hoe
song, to a sort of derry-down chorus,' appropriate to
an old English ditty.
THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR
1
I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelve month or twain,
To search Europe, through, from Byzantium to Spain ;
But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 1
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.
2
Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,
And is brought home at even-song prick’d through with a
spear.
I confess him in haste — for his lady desires
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s.
3
Your monarch? — Pshaw! many a Prince has been known
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,
But which of us e’er felt the idle desire
To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a Friar !
4
The Friar has walked out, and where’er he has gone, ' 1
The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own ;
He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,
For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar's.
5
He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums;
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.
'“It may be proper to remind the reader, that the chorus
of “derry-down” is supposed to be as ancient, not only as
the times of the Heptarchy, but as those of the Druids, and
to have furnished the chorus to the hymns of those vener¬
able persons when they went to the wood to gather mis-
tleto^’— Scott
IVANHOE 231
6
He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot,
They broach the brown ale, and they till the black pot.
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,
Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.
7
Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ;
For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar,
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.
“By my troth/’ said the knight, “thou hast sung
well and lustily, and in high praise of thine order.
And, talking of the devil, Holy Clerk, are you not
ji afraid that he may pay you a visit during some of
I your uncanonical pastimes?”
!j “I uncanonical!” answered the hermit; I scorn
1 the charge — I scorn it with my heels ! — I serve the
duty of my chapel duly and truly — Two masses
daily, morning and evening, primes, noons, and ves¬
pers, aves, credos, paters — ”
i “Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison
is in season,” said his guest.
“Exceytis exceytendis ,m replied the hermit, as
our old abbot taught me to say. when impertinent
laymen should ask me if I kept ever a punctilio of
mine order.”
“True, holy father,” said the knight; ‘but the
devil is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions; he
goes about, thou knowest, like a roaring lion.”
“Let him roar here if he dares,” said the friar;
“a touch of my cord will make him roar as loud as
the tongs of Saint Dunstan himself did. I never
feared man, and I as little fear the devil and his
imps. Saint Dunstan, Saint Dubric, Saint Wmi-
^xcepting what is to be excepted.
232
1VANH0E
bald, Saint Winifred,1 Saint Swibert, Saint Willick,
not forgetting Saint Thomas a Kent, and my own
poor merits to speed, I defy every devil of them,
come cut and long tail. — But to let you into a secret,
I never speak upon such subjects, my friends, until
after morning vespers.”
He changed the conversation; fast and furious
grew the mirth of the parties, and many a song was
exchanged betwixt them, when their revels were in¬
terrupted by a loud knocking at the door of the
hermitage.
The occasion of this interruption we can only ex¬
plain by resuming the adventures of another set of
our characters; for, like old Ariosto, we do not pique
ourselves upon continuing uniformly to keep com¬
pany with any one personage of our drama.
*The hermit refers to English and Welsh saints because
be probably knew no others.
CHAPTER XVIII
Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle,
Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother,
Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs,
Checquers the sunbeam in the greensward alley —
Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these
To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne;
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest.
Ettrich Forest.
When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down
senseless in the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was
to order him into the custody and care of his own
j attendants, but the words choked in his throat. He
could not bring himself to acknwoledge, in presence
of such an assembly, the son whom he had renounced
and disinherited. He ordered, however, Oswald
to keep an eye upon him; and directed that officer,
with two of his serfs, to convey Ivanhoe to Ashby as
soon as the crowd had dispersed.
Otewald, however, was anticipated in this good
! office. The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight
was nowhere to be seen.
It was in vain that Cedric’s cup-bearer looked
|| around for his young master. He saw the bloody
| spot on which he had lately sunk down, but himself
he saw no longer; it seemed as if the fairies had
; conveyed him from the spot. Perhaps Oswald (for
I the Saxons were very superstitious) might have
j adopted some such hypothesis, to account for Ivap-
hoe’s disappearance, had he not suddenly cast his
eye upon a person attired like a squire, in whom he
recognized the features of his fellow-servant Gurth.
Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in despair
at his sudden disappearance, the translated swine-
234
IVANHOE
herd was searching for him everywhere, and had
neglected, in doing so, the concealment on which his
own safety depended. Oswald deemed it his duty to
secure Gurth, as a fugitive of whose fate his master
was to judge.
rceiicwmg nis inquiries concerning the fate of
Ivanhoe, the only information which the cup-bearer
could collect from the bystanders was, that the
knight had been raised with care by certain well-
attired grooms, and placed in a litter belonging to
a lady among the spectators, which had immediate¬
ly transported him out of the press. Oswald, on re¬
ceiving this intelligence, resolved to return to his
master for farther instructions, carrying along with
him Gurth, whom he considered in some sort as a
deserter from the service of Cedric.
The Saxon had been under very intense and agon¬
izing apprehensions concerning his son; for Nature
had asserted her rights, in spite of the patriotic
stoicism which labored to disown her. But no sooner
was he informed that Ivanhoe was in careful, and
probably in friendly hands, than the paternal anxi¬
ety which had been excited by the dubiety of his
fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride
and resentment, at what he termed Wilfred’s filial
disobedience. “Let him wander his way,” said he,
— ‘‘let those leech his wounds for whose sake he en¬
countered them. He is fitter to do the juggling
tricks of the Norman chivalry than to maintain the
fame and honor of his English ancestry with the
glaive and brown-bill, the good old weapons of his
country.”
“If to maintain the honor of ancestry,” said Row-
ena, who was present, “it is sufficient to be wise in
council and brave in execution — to be boldest among
Ivan hoe
235
the bold, and gentlest among the gentle, I knovt no
voice save his father’s - ”
“Be silent, Lady Rowena! — on this subject only
I hear you not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s
festival: we have been summoned thither with un¬
wonted circumstance of honor and of courtesy, such
as the haughty Normans have rarely used to our
race since the fatal day of Hastings. Thither will
I go, were it only to show these proud Normans
how little the fate of a son, who could defeat their
bravest, can affect a Saxon.”
“Thither,” said Rowena, “do I NOT go; and I
pray you to beware, lest what you mean for courage
and constancy shall be accounted hardness of heart.”
'•Remain at home, then, ungrateful ladyr,” an¬
swered Cedric; “thine is the hard heart, which can
sacrifice the weal of an oppressed people to an idle
and unauthorized attachment. I seek the noble
Athelstane, and with him attend the banquet of
John of AAjou.”
He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we
have already mentioned the principal events. Im¬
mediately upon retiring from the castle, the Saxon
thanes, with their attendants, took horse ; and it
was during the bustle which attended their doing
so, that Cedric, for the first time, cast his eyes upon
the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon had returned
from the banquet, as we have seen, in no very placid
humor, and wanted but a pretext for wreaking his
anger upon some one. “The gyves!” he said, “the
gyves ! — Oswald — Hundlbert! Dogs and villains! —
why leave ye the knave unfettered?”
Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of
Gurth bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord
which occurred. He submitted to the operation
without remonstrance, except that, darting a re-
236
IVANHOE
proachful look at his master, he said, “This comes
of loving your flesh and blood better than mine
own.”
“To horse, and forward!” said Cedric.
“It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athel-
stane; “for if we ride not the faster, the worthy
Abbot WaltheofFs preparations for a rere-supper
will be altogether spoiled.”
The travelers, however, used such speed as to
reach the convent of St. Withhold’s before the ap¬
prehended evil took place. The Abbot, himself of
ancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxons
with the profuse and exuberant hospitality of their
nation, wherein they indulged to a late, or rather
an early, hour; nor did they take leave of their
reverend host the next morning until they had
shared with him a sumptuous refection.
As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery,
an incident happened somewhat alarming to the
Saxons, who, of all people of Europe, were most
addicted to a superstitious observance of omens,
and to whose opinions can be traced most of those
notions upon such subjects still to be found among
our popular antiquities. For the Normans being a
mixed race, and better informed according to the
information of the times, had lost most of the
superstitious prejudices which their ancestors had
brought from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves
upon thinking freely on such topics.
In the present instance, the apprehension of im¬
pending evil was inspired by no less respectable a
prophet than a large lean black dog, which, sitting
upright, howled most piteously as the foremost
riders left the gate, and presently afterwards, bark-
Ivan hoe
237
ling wildly, and jumping to and fro, seemed bent
| upon attaching itself to the party.
“I like not that music, father Cedric,’” said
Athelstane; for by this title of respect he was ac-
i customed to address him.
“Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly
| fear we shall have to pay the piper.”
“In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose mem¬
ory the Abbot’s good ale (for Burton was already
famous for that genial liquor) had made a favor¬
able impression, — “in my mind we had better turn
back, and abide with the Abbot until the afternoon,
j It is unlucky to travel where your path is crossed
by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have
eaten your next meal.”
, “Away!” said Cedric, impatiently; “the day is
already too short for our journey. For the dog, I
know it to be the cur of the runaway slave Gurth,
i a useless fugitive like its master.”
So saying, and rising at the same time in his stir-
i rups, impatient at the interruption of his journey,
| he launched his javelin at poor Fangs — for Fangs
it was, who, having traced his master thus far upon
; his stolen expedition, had here lost him, and was
now, in his uncouth way, rejoicing at his reappear-
; ance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the
animal’s shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him
to the earth; and Fangs fled howling from the
presence of the enraged thane. Gurth’s heart
swelled within him; for he felt this meditated
slaughter of his faithful adherent in a degree
much deeper than the harsh treatment he had him-
j self received. Having in vain attempted to raise
j his hand to his eyes, he said to Wamba, who, see-
i ing his master’s ill-humor, had prudently retreated
! to the rear, “I pray thee, do me the kindness to
238
IVANHOE
wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the
dust offends me, and these bonds will not let me
help myself one way or another.”
Wamba did him the service he required, and
they rode side by side for some time, during which
Gurth maintained a moody silence. At length he
could repress his feelings no longer.
“Friend Wamba,” said he, “of all those who are
fools enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hast
dexerity enough to make thy folly acceptable to
him. Go to him, therefore, and tell him that neith¬
er for love nor fear will Gurth serve him longer.
He may strike the head from me — he may scourge
me — he may load me with irons — but henceforth
he shall never compel me either to love or to obey
him. Go to him, then, and tell him that Gurth the
son of Beowulph renounces his service.”
“Assuredly,” said Wamba, “fool as I am, I shall
not do your fool’s errand. Cedric hath another
javelin stuck into his girdle, and thou knowest he
does not always miss his mark.”
“I care not,” replied Gurth, “how soon he makes
a mark of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my
young master, in his blood. To-day he has striven
to kill before my face the only other living creat¬
ure that ever showed me kindness. By Saint Ed¬
mund Saint Dustan, Saint Withold, Saint Edward
the Confessor, and every other Saxon saint in the
calendar” (for Cedric never swore by any that was
not of Saxon lineage, and all his household had
the same limited devotion), “I will never forgive I
him!” i
“To my thinking, now,” said the Jester, who
was frequently wont to act as peace-maker in the
Question: What reasons did Gurth have for being an-
gry at Cedric?
IVANHOE
239
lamily, “our master did not propose to hurt Fangs,
>ut only to affright him. For, if you observe, he
ose in his stirrups, as thereby meaning to overcast
he mark; and so he would have done, but Fangs
lappening to bound up at the very moment, re-
eived a scratch, which I will be bound to heal with
i penny’s breadth of tar.”
“If I thought so,” said Gurth — “if I could but
hink so — but no — I saw the javelin was well aimed
—I heard it whizz through the air with all the
vrathful malevolence of him who cast it, and it
quivered after it had pitched in the ground, as if
vith regret for having missed its mark. By the hog
lear to St. Anthony, I renounce him!”
And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen
Iulence, which no efforts of the Jester could again
nduce him to break.
Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of
he troop conversed together on the state of the
and, on the dissensions of the royal family, on the
euds and quarrels among the Norman nobles, and
n the chance which there was that the oppressed
Saxons might be able to free themselves from the
oke of the Normans, or at least to elevate them¬
selves into national consequence and independence,
during the civil convulsions which were likely to
ensue. On this subject Cedric was all animation.
iThe restoration of the independence of his race
was the idol of his heart, to which he had willingly
sacrificed domestic happiness, and the interests of
his own son. But, in order to achieve this great
revolution in favor of the native English, it was
necessary that they should be united among them¬
selves, and act under an acknowledged head. The
necessity of choosing their chief from the Saxon
blood-royal was not only evident in itself, but had
240
Ivan hoe
been made a solemn condition by those whom Cedric
had intrusted with his secret plans and hopes.
Athelstane had this quality at least; and though
he had few mental accomplishments or talents to
recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly
person, was no coward, had been accustomed to
martial exercises, and seemed willing to defer to
the advice of counselors more wise than himself.
Above all, he was known to be liberal and hospit¬
able, and believed to be good-natured. But what¬
ever pretensions Athelstane had to be considered
as head of the Saxon confederacy, many of that
nation were disposed to prefer to his the title of
the Lady Rowena, who drew her descent from Al¬
fred, and whose father having been a chief re¬
nowned for wisdom, courage, and generosity, his
memory was highly honored by his oppressed
countrymen.
It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric,
had he been so disposed, to have placed himself at
the head of a third party, as formidable at least as
any of the others. To counterbalance their royal
descent, he had courage, activity, energy, and, above
all, that devoted attachment to the cause which had
procured him the epithet of The Saxon, and his
birth was inferior to none, excepting only that of
Athelstane and his ward. These qualities, however,
were unalloyed by the slightest shade of selfish¬
ness; and, instead of dividing yet farther his weak¬
ened nation by forming a faction of his own, it was
a leading part of Cedric’s plan to extinguish that
which already existed, by promoting a marriage
betwixt Rowena and Athelstane. An obstacle oc¬
curred to this his favorite project, in the mutual
attachment of his ward and his son; and hence the
IVANHOE
241
-riginal cause of the banishment of Wilfred from
he house of his father.
I This stern measure Cedric had adopted, in hopes
hat, during Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might re-
inquish her preference, but in this hope he was
disappointed; a disappointment which might be
attributed in part to the mode in which his ward
Lad been educated. Cedric, to whom the name of
Alfred was as that of a deity, had treated the sole
emaining scion of that great monarch with a de-
free of observance, such as, perhaps, was in those
lays scarce paid to an acknowledged princess,
jtowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law
jo his household; and Cedric himself, as if deter-
nined that her sovereignty should be fully ac¬
knowledged within that little circle at least, seemed
;o take a pride in acting as the first of her sub-
ects. Thus trained in the exercise not only of free
vill, but despotic authority, Rowena was, by her
previous education, disposed both to resist and to
resent any attempt to control her affections, or
jlispose of her hand contrary to her inclinations,
and to assert her independence in a case in which
even those females who have been trained up to
abedience and subjection, are not infrequently apt
to dispute the authority of guardians and parents.
The opinions which she felt strongly, she avowed
boldly; and Cedric, who could not free himself from
his habitual deference to her opinions, felt totally
‘at a loss how to enforce his authority of guard¬
ian.
( It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her
jwith the prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena,
iwho possessed strong sense, neither considered his
Question : What plans did Cedric have for the Saxons?
242
IVANHOE
plan as practicable, nor as desirable, so far as she
was concerned, could it have been achieved. With¬
out attempting to conceal her avowed preference of
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were that
favored knight out of question, she would rather
take refuge in a convent, than share a throne with
Athelstane, whom, having always despised, she now
began, on account of the trouble she received on
his account, thoroughly to detest.
Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women’s
constancy was far from strong, persisted in using
every means in his power to bring about the pro¬
posed match, in which he conceived he was ren¬
dering an important service to the Saxon cause. The
sudden and romantic appearance of his son in the
lists at Ashby, he had justly regarded as almost
a death’s blow to his hopes. His paternal affec¬
tion, it is true, had for an instant gained the victory
over pride and patriotism; but both had returned
in full force, and under their joint operation, he
was now bent upon making a determined effort foi
the union of Athelstane and Rowena, together with
expediting those other measures which seemed
necessary to forward the restoration of Saxon in¬
dependence.
On this last subject, he was now laboring with
Athelstane, not without having reason, every now
and then, to lament, like Hostspur,1 that he should
have moved such a dish of skimmed milk to so hon¬
orable an action. Athelstane, it is true, was vain
enough, and loved to have his ears tickled with
tales of his high descent, and of his right by in¬
heritance to homage and sovereignty. But his petty
vanity was sufficiently gratified by receiving this
homage at the hands of his immediate attendants
"King Henry IV, Part I, II 3. 36.
IVANHOE
243
and of the Saxons who approached him. If he had
the courage to encounter danger, he at least hated
the trouble of going to seek it; and while he agreed
in the general principles laid down by Cedric con¬
cerning the claim of the Saxons to independence,
sand was still more easily convinced of his own
'title to reign over them when that independence
should be attained, yet when the means of assert¬
ing these rights came to be discussed, he was still
[“Athelstane the Unready,” slow, irresolute, pro¬
crastinating, and unenterprising. The warm and
impassioned exhortations of Cedric had as little
effect upon his impassive temper, as red-hot balls
i alighting in the water, which produce a little
j sound and smoke, and are instantly extinguished.
; If, leaving this task, which might be compared
to spurring a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold
Iron, Cedric fell back to his ward Rowena, he re¬
ceived little more satisfaction from conferring with
1 her. For, as his presence interrupted the discourse
1 between the lady and her favorite attendant upon
the gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed
I not to revenge both her mistress and herself by
recurring to the overthrow of Athelstane in the
lists, the most disagreeable subject which could
greet the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon,
therefore, the day’s journey was fraught with all
manner of displeasure and discomfort ; so that he
more than once internally cursed the tournament,
and him who had proclaimed it, together with his
own folly in ever thinking of going thfther.
At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the trav¬
elers paused in a woodland shade by a fountain, to
repose their horses and partake of some provisions,
with which the hospitable Abbot had loaded a
sumpter mule. Their repast was a pretty long one ;
244
IVANHOE
and these severai interruptions rendered it im¬
possible for them to hope to reach Rotherwood
without traveling all night, a conviction which in¬
duced them to proceed on their way. at a more
hasty pace than they had hitherto used.
CHAPTER XIX
A train of armed men, some noble dame
Escorting (so their scatter'd words discover'd,
As unperceived I hung upon their rear),
Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night
Within the castle.
Orra , a Tragedy.
The travelers had now reached the verge of the
wooded country, and were about to plunge into its
recesses, held dangerous at that time from the num¬
ber of outlaws whom oppression and poverty had
driven to despair, and who occupied the forests in
such large bands as could easily bid defiance to
the feeble police of the period. From these rovers,
however, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour,
Cedric and Athelstane accounted themselves se¬
cure, as they had in attendance ten servants, be¬
sides Wamba and Ghirth, whose aid could not be
counted upon, the one being a jester and the other
a captive. It may be added, that in traveling thus
late through the forest, Cedric and Athelstane re¬
lied on their descent and character, as well as their
courage. The outlaws, whom the severity of the
forest laws had reduced to this roving and desper¬
ate mode of life, were chiefly peasants and yeomen
of Saxon descent, and were generally supposed to
respect the persons and property of their country¬
men.
As the travelers journeyed on their way, they were
alarmed by repeated cries for assistance; and when
they rode up to the place from whence they came,
they were surprised to find a horse-litter placed
upon the ground, beside which sat a young woman,
richly dressed in the Jewish fashion, while an old
man, whose yellow cap proclaimed him to belong to
246
IVANHOE
the same nation, walked up and down with ges¬
tures expressive of the deepest despair, and wrung
his hands, as if affected by some strange disaster.
To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the
old Jew could for some time only answer by in¬
voking the protection of all the patriarchs of the
Old Testament successively against, the sons of
Ishmael, who were coming to smite them, hip and
thigh, with the edge of the sword. When he began
to come to himself out of this agony of terror,
Isaac of York (for it was our old friend) was at
length able to explain that he had hired a body¬
guard of six men at Ashby, together with mules for
carrying the litter of a sick friend. This party
had undertaken to escort him as far as Doncaster.
They had come thus far in safety; but having re¬
ceived information from a woodcutter that there
was a strong band of outlaws lying in wait in the
woods before them, Isaac’s mercenaries had not
only taken flight, but had carried off with them the
horses which bore the litter, and left the Jew and
his daughter without the means either of defense
or of retreat, to be plundered, and probably mur¬
dered, by the banditti, who they expected every
moment would bring down upon them. “Would it
but please your valors,” added Isaac, in a tone of
deep humiliation, “to permit the poor Jews to travel
under your safeguard, I swear by the tables of our
law that never has favor been conferred upon a
child of Israel since the days of our captivity,
which shall be more gratefully acknowledged.”
“Dog of a Jew!” said Athelstane, whose mem¬
ory was of that petty kind that stores up_ trifles of
all kinds, but particularly trifling offenses, “dost
not remember how thou didst beard us in the gal¬
lery at the tilt-yard? Fight or flee, or compound
IVANHOE
247
with the outlaws as thou does list, ask neither aid
nor company from us; and if they rob only such
as thee, who rob all the world, I, for mine own share,
shall hold them right honest folk.”
Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of
his companion. “We shall do better,” said he, “to
leave them two of our attendants and two horses
to convey them back to the next village. It will
diminish our strength but little; and with your
good sword, noble Athelstane, and the aid of those
who remain, it will be light work) for us to face
twenty of those runagates.”
Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of out¬
laws in force, and so near them, strongly seconded
the proposal of her guardian. But Rebecca, sud¬
denly quitting her dejected posture, and making her
way through the attendants to the palfrey of the
Saxon lady, knelt down, and, after the Oriental
fashion in addressing superiors, kissed the hem of
Rowena’s garment. Then rising, and throwing
back her veil, she implored her in the great name
of the God whom they both worshiped, and by that
revelation of the Law1 upon Mount Sinai, in which
they both believed, that she would have compas¬
sion upon them, and suffer them to go forward
under their safeguard. “It is not for myself that
I pray this favor,” said Rebecca, “nor is it even
for that poor old man. I know that to wrong and
to spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit,
with the Christians; and what is it to us whether
it be done in the city, in the desert, or in the field?
But it is in the name of one dear to many, and
dear even to you, that I beseech you to let this sick
person be transported with care and tenderness
under your protection. For, if evil chance him, the
Exodus XX.
248
IVANHOE
last moment of your life would be embittered with
regret for denying that which I ask of you.”
The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca
made this appeal, gave it double weight with the
fair Saxon.
“The man is old, and feeble,” she said to her
guardian, “the maiden young and beautiful, their
friend sick and in peril of his life — Jews though
they be, we cannot as Christians leave them in this
extremity. Let them unload two of the sumpter-
mules, and put the baggage behind two of the
serfs. The mules may transport the litter, and we
have led horses for the old man and his daughter.”
Cedric readily assented to what she proposed,
and Athelstane only added the condition, “that they
should travel in the rear of the whole party, where
Wamba,” he said, “might attend them with his
shield of boar’s brawn.”
“I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered
the Jester, “as has been the fate of many a better
knight than myself.”
Athelstane colored deeply, for such had been his
own fate on the last day of the tournament; while
Rowena, who was pleased in the same proportion,
as if to make amends for the brutal jest of her
unfeeling suitor, requested Rebecca to ride by her
side.
“It were not fit I should do so,” answered
Rebecca, with proud humility, “where my society
might be held a disgrace to my protectress.”
By this time the change of baggage was hastily
achieved; for the single word “outlaws” rendered
every one sufficiently alert, and the approach of
twilight made the sound yet more impressive. Amid
Question: Who is the friend in the litter?
IVANHOE
249
the bustle, Gurth was taken from horseback, in the
; course of which removal he prevailed upon the
: Jester to slack the cord with which his arms were
bound. It was so negligently refastened, perhaps
intentionally, on the part of Wamba, that Gurth
found no difficulty in freeing his arms altogether
| from bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket,
he made his escape from the party.
The bustle had been considerable, and it was
some time before Gurth was missed; for, as he was
to be placed for the rest of the journey behind a
servant, every one supposed that some other of His
companions had him under his custody, and when
it began to be whispered among them that Gurth
had actually disappeared, they were under such
immediate expectation of an attack from the out¬
laws, that it was not held convenient to pay much
attention to the circumstance.
The path upon which the party traveled was now
so narrow as not to admit, with any sort of conven¬
ience, above two riders abreast, and began to de¬
scend into a dingle, traversed by a brook whose
banks were broken, swampy, and overgrown with
dwarf willows. Cedric and Athlestane, who were
at the head of their retinue, saw the risk of being
attacked at this pass; but neither of them having
had much practice in war, no better mode of pre¬
venting the danger occurred to them than that they
should hasten through the defile as fast as pos¬
sible. Advancing, therefore, without much order,
they had just crossed the brook with a part of their
followers, when they were assailed in front, flank,
and rear at once, with an impetuosity to which, in
their confused and ill-prepared condition, it was
impossible to offer effectual resistance. The shout
of “A white dragon! — a white dragon! — Saint
250
Ivan hoe
George for merry England!” war-cries adopted by
the assailants, as belonging to their assumed char¬
acter of Saxon outlaws, was heard on every side,
and on every side enemies appeared with a rapidity
of advance and attack which seemed to multiply
their numbers.
Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at
the same moment, and each under circumstances
expressive of his character. Cedric, the instant
that an enemy appeared, launched at him his re¬
maining javelin, which, taking better effect than
that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the man
against an oak-tree that happened to be close be¬
hind him. Thus far successful, Cedric spurred his
horse against a second, drawing his sword at the
same time, and striking with such inconsiderate
fury, that his weapon encountered a thick branch
which hung over him, and he was disarmed by the
violence of his own blow. He was instantly made
prisoner, and pulled from his horse by two or three
of the banditti who crowded around him. Athel-
stance shared his captivity, his bridle having been
seized, and he himself forcibly dismounted, long
before he could draw his weapon, or assume any
posture of effectual defense.
The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, sur¬
prised and terrified at the fate of their masters,
fell an easy prey to the assailants; while the Lady
Rowena, in the center of the cavalcade, and the Jew
and his daughter in the rear, experienced the same
misfortune.
Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who
showed upon the occasion much more courage than
those who pretended to greater sense. He possessed
himself of a sword belonging to one of the domes¬
tics, who was just drawing it with a tardy and
IVANHOE
251
irresolute hand, laid it about him like a lion, drove
back several who approached him, and made a
prave though ineffectual attempt to succor his mas¬
ter. Finding himself overpowered, the Jester at
length threw himself from his horse, plunged into
the thicket, and favored by the general confusion,
escaped from the scene of action.
Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found him¬
self safe, hesitated more than once whether he
Should not turn back and share the captivity of a
master to whom he was sincerely attached.
“I have heard men talk of the blessings of free¬
dom, M he said to himself, “but I wish any wise man
would teach me what use to make of it now that
I have it.”
As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very
near him called out in a low and cautious tone,
“Wamba!” and, at the same time, a dog, which he
recognized to be Fangs, jumped up and fawned
upon him. “Gurth!” answered Wamba, with the
same caution, and the swineherd immediately stood
before him.
“What is the matter?” said he eagerly; “what
mean these cries, and that clashing of swords?”
“Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; “they
are all prisoners.” .
“Who are prisoners?” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently.
“My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundi-
bert, and Oswald.”
“In the name of God!” said Gurth, “how came they
prisoners?— and to whom?”
“Our master was too ready to fight,” said the
Jester; “and Athelstane was not ready enough, and
no other person was ready at all. And they are
Question: What is the value of the escape of Gurth
and Wamba?
252
IVANHOE
prisoners to green cassocks, and black visors. And
they lie all tumbled about on the green, like the
crabapples, that you shake down to your swine.
And I would laugh at it,” said the honest Jester,
“if I could for weeping.” And he shed tears of
unfeigned sorrow.
Gurth’s countenance kindled — “Wamba,” he said,
“thou hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever
stronger than thy brain, — we are only two — but a
sudden attack from men of resolution will do much
— follow me!”
“Whither? — and for what purpose?” said the
Jester.
“To rescue Cedric.”
“But you have renounced his service but now,”
said Wamba.
“That,” said Gurth, “was but while he was for^
tunate — follow me!”
As the Jester was about to obey, a third person
suddenly made his appearance, and commanded them
both to halt. From his dress and arms, Wamba
would have conjectured him to be one of those
outlaws who had just assailed his master; but, be¬
sides that he wore no mask, the glittering baldric
across his shoulder, with a rich bugle-horn which
it supported, as well as the calm and commanding
expression of his voice and manner, made him, not¬
withstanding the twilight, recognize Locksley the
yeoman, who had been victorious, under such dis¬
advantageous circumstances, in the contest for the
prize of archery. v>
“What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “or
who is it that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners
in these forests?”
“You may look at their cassocks close by,” said
Wamba, “and see whether they be thy children’s
IVANHOE
253
coats or no — for they are as like thine own, as one
green pea-cod is to another.”
“I 'will learn that presently,” answered Locksley;
“and I charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir
from the place where ye stand until I have re¬
turned. Obey me, and it shall be the better for
you and your masters. Yet, stay, I must render
myself as like these men as possible.”
So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the
jbugle, took a feather from his cap, and gave them
to Wamba ; then drew a vizard from his pouch, and
repeating his charges to them to stand fast, went
to execute his purposes of reconnoitering.
“Shall we stand fast, Gurth?” said Wamba; “or
shall we e’en give him leg-bail? — In my foolish
mind, he had all the equipage of a thief too much
in readiness, to be himself a true man.
“Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “an he will.
We can be no worse of waiting his return. If he
belong to that party he must already have given
them the alarm, and it will avail nothing either to
fight or fly. Besides, I have late experience, that
arrant thieves are not the worst men in the world
to have to deal with.”
The yoeman returned in the course of a few
minutes. . _
“Friend Gurth,” he said, “I have mingled among
yon men, and have learnt to whom they belong, and
whither they are bound. There is, I think, no
chance that they will proceed to any actual violence
i against their prisoners. For three men to attempt
them at this moment, were little else than madness ,
■for they are good men of war, and have, as such,
placed sentinels to give the alarm when any one
approaches. But I trust soon to gather such a
force, as may act in defiance of all their precau-
254
IVANHOE
tions; you are both servants, and, as I think, faith¬
ful servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of
the rights of Englishmen. He shall not want Eng¬
lish hands to help him in this extremity. Come
then with me, until I gather more aid.”
So saying, he walked through the wood at a
great pace, followed by the Jester and the swine¬
herd. It was not consistent with Wamba’s humor
to travel long in silence.
“I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and
bugle which he still carried, “that I saw the arrow
shot which won this gay prize, and that not so long
since as Christmas.”
“And I,” said Gurth, “could take it on my hali-
dom, that I have heard the voice of the good yeo¬
man who won it, by night as well as by day, and
that the moon is not three days older since I did
so.”
“Mine honest friends,” replied the yeoman,
“who, or what I am, is little to the present purpose;
should I free your master, you will have reason to
think me the best friend you have ever had in your
lives. And whether I am known by one name or an¬
other — or whether I can draw a bow as well or
better than a cow-keeper, or whether it is my pleas¬
ure to walk in sunshine or by moonlight, are mat¬
ters, which, as they do not concern you, so neither
need ye busy yourselves respecting them.”
“Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said
Wamba, in a whisper to Gurth, “get them out how
we can.”
Question : How are you prepared by conversation for
the appearance of the outlaws?
Question: Who is this outlaw?
Question : Do you notice any points in common with
De Bracy’s plans?
lVANHOE
255
“Hush— be silent,” said Gurth. “Offend him
not by thy folly, and I trust sincerely that all
will go well.”
CHAPTER XX
When autumn nights were long and drear,
And forest walks were dark and dim,
How sweet on the pilgrim’s ear
Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn !
Devotion borrows Music’s tone,
And Music took Devotion’s wing;
And like the bird that hails the sun,
They soar to heaven, and soaring sing,
The Hermit of St. Clement's Well.
It was after three hours’ good walking that the
servants of Cedric, with their mysterious guide,
arrived at a small opening in the forest, in the
center of which grew an oak-tree of enormous
magnitude, throwing its twisted branches in every
direction. Beneath this tree four or five yeomen lay
stretched on the ground, while another, as sentinel,
walked to and fro in the moonlight shade.
Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching,
the watch instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers
as suddenly started up and bent their bows. Six
arrows placed on the string were pointed towards
the quarter from which the travelers approached,
when their guide, being recognized, was welcomed
with every token of respect and attachment, and
all signs and fears of a rough reception at once
subsided.
‘Where is the Miller?” was his first question.
“On the road towards Rotherham.”
“With how many?” demanded the leader, for
such he seemed to be.
“With six men and good hope of booty, if it
please St. Nicholas.”
IVANHOE
257
“Devoutly spoken,’’ said Locksley; “and where is
Allan-a-Dale?”
“Walked up towards the Watling-street,1 to
watch for the Prior of Jorvaulx.”
“That is well thought on also,” replied the Cap¬
tain; — “and where is the Friar?”
“In his cell.”
“Thither will I go,” said Locksley. “Disperse
and seek your companions. Collect what force you
can, for there’s game afoot that must be hunted
hard, and will turn to bay. Meet me here by day¬
break. — And, stay,” he added, “I have forgotten
what is most necessary of the whole — 'Two of you
take the road quickly towards Torquilstone, the
Castle of Front-de-Bceuf. A set of gallants, who
have been masquerading in such guise as our own,
are carrying a band of prisoners thither — Watch
them closely, for even if they reach the castle be¬
fore we collect our force, our honor is concerned
to punish them, and we will find means to do so.
Keep a close watch on them therefore; and dis¬
patch one of your comrades, the lightest of foot, to
bring the news of the yeomen thereabout.”
They promised implicit obedience, and departed
with alacrity on their different errands. In the
meanwhile, their leader and his two companions,
who now looked upon him with great respect, as
well as some fear, pursued their way to the Chapel
i of Copmanhurst.
When they had reached the little moonlight
glade, having in front the reverend, though ruinous
! chapel, and the rude hermitage, so well suited to
ascetic devotion, Wamba whispered to Gurth, If
this be the habitation of a thief, it makes good
lAn old Roman road which began at Dover and ran
through London to Chester and York.
258
Ivan hoe
the old proverb, The nearer the church the farther
from God. — And by my cockscomb,”1 he added, “I
think it be even so — Hearken but to the black
sanctus2 which they are singing in the hermitage!”
In fact the anchorite and his guest were per¬
forming, at the full extent of their very powerful
lungs, an old drinking song, of which this was the
burden:
“Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.
Bully boy, bully boy.
Come, trowl the brown bowl to me ;
Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking.
Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.”
“Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who
had thrown in a few of his own flourishes to help
out the chorus. “But who, in the saint’s name,
ever expected to have heard such a jolly chant
come from out a hermit’s cell at midnight!”
“Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, “for the jolly
Clerk of Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills
half the deer that are stolen in this walk. Men
say that the keeper has complained to his official,
and that he will be stripped of his cowl and cope
altogether, if he keep not better order.” ,
While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud
and repeated knocks had at length disturbed they
anchorite and his guest. “By my beads,” said the
hermit, stopping short in a grand flourish, “here
come more benighted guests. I would not for my
cowl that they found us in this goodly exercise.
All men have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard; and
there be those malignant enough to construe the
tool’s cap.
2Sanctus is a hymn of mass beginning, “Sanctus, Sanctus.”
A black Sanctus would be a mock hymn.
IVANHOE
259
hospitable refreshment which I have been offering
to you, a weary traveler, for the matter of three
short hours, into sheer drunkenness and debauch¬
ery, vices alike alien to my procession and my dis¬
position/’
“Base calumniators!” replied the knight; “I
would I had the chastising of them. Nevertheless,
Holy Clerk, it~ is true that all have their enemies;
and there be those in this very land whom I would
rather speak to through the bars of my helmet than
barefaced.”
“Get thine iron pot on thy head, then, friend
Sluggard, as quickly as thy nature will permit,”
said the hermit, “while I remove these pewter
flagons, whose late contents run strangely in mine
own pate ; and to drown the clatter — for, in faith.
I feel somewhat unsteady — strike into the tune
which thou hearest me sing; it is no matter for the
words — I scarce know them myself.”
So saying, he struck up a thundering De pro-
fundis clamavi under cover of which he removed
the apparatus of their banquet: while the knight,
laughing heartily, and arming himself all the while,
assisted his host with his voice from time to time
as his mirth permitted.
“What devil’s matins are you after at this hour?”
said a voice from without.
“Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveler!” said the
hermit, whose own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal
potations, prevented from recognizing accents which
were tolerably familiar to him — “Wend on your
way, in the name of God and Saint Dunstan, and
disturb not the devotions of me and my holy brother.”
“Mad priest,” answered the voice from without,
“open to Locksley!”
260
IVANHOE
“All’s safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his
companion.
“But who is he?” said the Black Knight; “It
imports me much to know.”
“Who is he?” answered the hermit; “I tell thee
he is a friend.”
“But what friend?” answered the knight; “for
he may be friend to thee and none of mine.”
“What friend?” replied the hermit; “that now,
is one of the questions that is more easily askled
than answered. What friend? — why, he is, now
that I bethink me a little, the very same honest
keeper I told thee of a while since.”
“Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious her¬
mit,” replied the knight, “I doubt it not. But undo
the door to him before he beat it from its hinges.”
The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a
dreadful baying at the commencement of the dis¬
turbance, seemed now to recognize the voice of him
who stood without; for, totally changing their man¬
ner, they scratched and whined at the door, as if
interceding for his admission. The hermit speedily
unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, with his
two companions.
“Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question,
as soon as he beheld the knight, “what boon com¬
panion hast thou here?”
“A brother of our order,” replied the friar,
shaking his head; “we have been at our orisons all
night.”
“He is a monk of the church militant,1 I think,”
answered Locksley; “and there be more of them
abroad. I tell thee, friar, thou must lay down the
rosary and take up the quarter-staff; we shall need
’Fighting sin in contrast to the church triumphant in
Heaven which is victorious over sin.
IVANIIOE
261
[every one of our merry men, whether clerk or lay¬
man. — But/’ he added, taking him a step aside, “art
ithou mad? to give admittance to a knight thou dost
[not know? Hast thou forgot our articles ?”
“Not know him!” replied the friar, boldly, “I
know him as well as the beggar knows his dish.”
“And what is his name, then?” demanded Lock-
sley.
“His name,” said the hermit — “his name is Sir
Anthony of Scrabblestone — as if I would drink with
a man, and did not know his name!”
“Thou hast been drinking more than enough,
[friar, ” said the woodman, “and, I fear, prating
more than enough, too.”
“Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming for¬
ward, “be not wroth with my merry host. He did
but afford me the hospitality which I would have
compelled from him if he had refused it.”
“Thou compel!” said the friar; “wait but till I
have changed this gray gown for a green cassock,
and if I make not a quarter-staff ring twelve upon
thy pate, I am neither true clerk nor good woods-
I man.”
While he spoke thus, he stripped off his gown,
and appeared in a close black buckram doublet and
drawers, over which he speedily did don a cassock
| of green, and hose of the same color. “I pray thee
I truss my points,” said he to Wamba, “and thou
I shalt have a cup of sack for thy labor.”
“Gramercy for thy sack,” said Wamba; “but
. think’st thou it is lawful for me to aid you to trans-
1 mew thyself from a holy hermit into a sinful fores¬
ter?”
“Never fear,” said the hermit; “I will but con¬
fess the sins of my green cloak to my gray friar’s
frock, and all shall be well again.”
262
IVANHOE
“Amen!” answered the Jester; “a broadcloth
penitent should have a sackcloth confessor, and your
frock may absolve my motley doublet into the bar¬
gain.”
So saying, he accommodated the friar with his
assistance in tying the endless number of points, as
the laces which attached the hose to the doublet
were then termed.
While they were thus employed, Locksley led the
knight a little apart, and addressed him thus:
“Deny it not, Sir Knight, you are he who decided
the victory to the advantage of the English against
the strangers on the second day of the tournament
at Ashby.”
“And what follows if you guess truly, good yeo¬
man?” replied the knight.
“I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeo¬
man, “a friend to the weaker party.”
“Such is the duty of a true knight, at least,”
replied the Black Champion: “and I would not wil¬
lingly that there were reason to think otherwise
of me.”
“But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “thou
shouldst be as well a good Englishman as a good
knight; for that, which I have to speak of, con¬
cerns, indeed, the duty of every honest man, but is
more especially that of a true-born native of Eng¬
land.”
“You can speak to no one,” replied the knight,
“to whom England, and the life of every English¬
man, can be dearer than to me.”
“I would willingly believe so,” said the woods¬
man, “for never had this country such need to be
supported by those who love her. Hear me, and I
will tell thee of an enterprise, in which, if thou
be'st really that which thou seemest, thou mayst
IVANHOE
263
take an honorable part. A band of villains, in the
disquise of better men than themselves, have made
themselves master of the person of a noble Eng¬
lishman, called Cedric the Saxon, together with his
ward, and his friend Athelstane of Coningsburgh,
and have transported them to a castle in this for¬
est, called Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good
knight and a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in
their rescue ?”
“I am bound by my vowT to do so,” replied the
knight ; “but I would willingly know who you are,
who request my assistance in their behalf?”
“I am,” said the forester, “a nameless man; but
I am the friend of my country, and of my own
country’s friends. — With this account of me you
| must for the present remain satisfied, the more es-
i pecially since you yourself desire to continue un¬
known. Believe, however, that my word, when
pledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.”
“I willingly believe it,” said the knight; “I have
been accustomed to study men’s countenances, and
I can read in thine honesty and resolution. I will,
therefore, ask thee no further questions, but aid
thee in setting at freedom these oppressed captives;
which done, I trust we shall part better acquainted,
and well satisfied with each other.”
“So,” said Wamba to Gurth,— for the friar being
now fully equipped, the Jester, having approached
to the other side of the hut, had heard the con¬
clusion of the conversation,— “So we have got a new
ally ? I trust the valor of the knight will be truer
metal than the religion of the hermit, or the hon¬
esty of the yeoman; for this Locksley looks like a
Question: Do you understand why the Black Knight
was taken to the hermit’s?
264
IVANHOE
born deer-stealer, and the priest like a lusty hypo¬
crite/’
“Hold thy peace, Wamba,” said Gurth ; it may
all be as thou dost guess; but were the horned
devil to rise and proffer me his assistance to set at
liberty Cedric and the Lady Rowena, I fear I should
hardly have religion enough to refuse the foul
fiend’s offer, and bid him get behind me.”
The friar was now completely accoutered as a
yoeman, with sword and buckler, bow and quiver,
and a strong partisan over his shoulder. He left
his cell at the head of the party, and, having care¬
fully locked the door, deposited the key under the
threshold.
“Art thou in condition to do good service, friar,”
said Locksley, “or does the brown bowl still run in
thy head?”
“Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s foun¬
tain will allay,” answered the priest; “something
there is of a whizzing in my brain, and of insta¬
bility in my legs, but you shall presently see both
pass away.”
So saying, he stepped to the- stone basin, in which
the waters of the fountain as they fell formed
bubbles which danced in the white moonlight, and
took so long a draught as if he had meant to ex¬
haust the spring.
“When didst thou drink as deep a draught of
water before, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst?” said
the Black Knight.
“Never since my wine-butt leaked, and let out its
liquor by an illegal vent,” replied the friar, “and
so left me nothing to drink but my patron’s bounty
here.”
Then plunging his hands and head into the foun¬
tain, he washed from them all marks of the mid-
IVANHOE
265
night revel. Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly
priest twirled his heavy partisan round his head
with three fingers, as if he had been balancing a
| reed, exclaiming at the same time, “Where be those
l false ravishers, who carry off wenches against
! their will? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if
I am not man enough for a dozen of them.”
“Swearest thou. Holy Clerk?” said the Black
Knight.
“Clerk me no Clerks,” replied the transformed
priest; “by Saint George and the Dragon, I am no
longer a shaveling than while my frock is on my
back.— When I am cased in my green cassock, I
will drink, swear, and woo a lass, with any blithe
forester in the West Riding.”
“Come on, Jack Priest,” said Locksley, “and be
silent; thou art as. noisy as a whole convent on a
: holy eve, when the Father Abbot has gone to bed. —
Come on you, too, my masters, tarry not to talk of
it — I say, come on, we must collect all our forces,
and few enough we shall have, if we are to storm
the Castle of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf.”
“What ! is it Front-de-Bceuf,” said the Black
king's liege subjects? — Is he turned thief and op¬
pressor?”
“Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley.
“And for thief,” said the priest, “I doubt if ever
i be were even half so honest a man as many a thief
of my acquaintance.”
“Move on, priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman;
“it were better you led the way to the place of ren¬
dezvous, than say what should be left unsaid, both
in decency and prudence.”
CHAPTER XXI
Alas, how many hours and years have past,
Since human forms have round this table sate,
Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d !
Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void
Of these dark arches, like the ling'ring voices
Of those who long within their graves have slept.
Orra, a Tragedy .
While these measures were taking in behalf of
Cedric and his companions the armed men by whom
the latter had been seized hurried their captives
along towards the place of security, where they in¬
tended to imprison them; but darkness came on fast,
and the paths of the wood seemed but imperfectly
known to the marauders. They were compelled to
make several long halts, and once or twice to re¬
turn on their road to resume the direction which
they wished to pursue. The summer morn had
dawned upon them ere they could travel in full as¬
surance that they held the right path; but confidence
returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved
rapidly forward. Meanwhile, the following dia¬
logue took place between the two leaders of the ban¬
ditti.
“It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice,"
said the Templar to De Bracy, “in order to prepare
the second part of thy mystery. Thou art next, thou
knowest, to act the Knight Deliverer."
“I have thought better of it," said De Bracy; “I
will not leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited
in Front-de-Bceuf’s castle. There will I appear be¬
fore the Lady Rowena in mine own shape, and trust
that she will set down to the vehemence of my
passion the violence of which I have been guilty."
IVANHOE
267
“And what has made thee change thy plan, De
Bracy?” replied the Knight Templar.
“That concerns thee nothing/’ answered his com¬
panion.
“I would hope, however, Sir Knight,” said the
Templar, “that this alteration of measures arises
j from no suspicion of my honorable meaning, such as
Fitzurse endeavored to instill into thee?”
“My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy;
“the fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robs an¬
other; and we know, that were he to spit fire and
brimstone instead, it would never prevent a Templar
from following his bent.”
“Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the
Templar, “from dreading at the hands of a comrade
and friend the injustice he does to all mankind.”
“This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,”
answered De Bracy; “suffice it to say, I know the
morals of the Temple-Order, and I will not give thee
the power of cheating me out of the fair prey for
which I have run such risks.”
“Psha,” replied the Templar, “what hast thou to
fear? — Thou knowest the vows of our order.”
“Right well,” said De Bracy, “and also how they
are kept. Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry
have a liberal interpretation in Palestine, and this is
a case in which I will trust nothing to your con¬
science.”
“Hear the truth, then,” said the Templar; “I
care not for your blue-eyed beauty. There is m that
train one who will make me a better mate.
“What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting dam¬
sel?” said De Bracy. ....
“No, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily.
“To the waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have
a prize among the captives as lovely as thine own.
268
Ivan hoe
“By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess !”
said De Bracy. |
“And if I do,” said Bois-Gilbert, “who shall
gainsay me?”
“No one that I know,” said De Bracy, “unless it
be your vow of celibacy, or a check of conscience for
an intrigue with a Jewess.”
“For my vow,” said the Templar, “our Grand
Master hath granted me a dispensation. And for
my conscience, a man that has slain three hundred
Saracens, need not reckon up every little failing, like
a village girl at her first confession upon Good Fri¬
day eve.”
“Thou knowest best thine own privileges,” said
De Bracy. “Yet I would have sworn thy thought
had been more on the old usurer’s money-bags than
on the black eyes of the daughter.”
“I can admire both,” answered the Templar;
“besides, the old Jew is but half-prize. I must share
his spoils with Front -de-Bceuf, who will not lend us
the use of his castle for nothing. I must have some¬
thing that I can term exclusively my own by this
foray of ours, and I have fixed on the lovely Jewess
as my peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my
drift, thou wilt resume thine own original plan, wilt
thou not? — Thou has nothing, thou seest, to fear
from my interference.”
“No,” replied De Bracy, “I will remain beside
my prize. What thou sayest is passing true, but I
like not the privileges acquired by the dispensation
of the Grand Master, and the merit acquired by the
slaughter of three hundred Saracens. You have too
good a right to a free pardon to render you very
scrupulous about peccadilloes.”
While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was
endeavoring to wring out of those who guarded him
IVANHOE
269
an avowal of their character and purpose. “You
should be Englishmen/’ said he; “and yet, sacred
Heaven! you help prey upon your countrymen as if
you were very Normans. You should be my neigh¬
bors, and, if so, my friends ; for which of my English
neighbors have reason to be otherwise? I tell ye,
yeomen, that even those among ye who have been
branded with outlawry have had from me protec¬
tion; for I have pitied their miseries, and curst the
oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, then,
would you have of me? or in what can this violence
serve ye? — Ye are worse than brute beasts, in your
actions, and will you imitate them in their very
dumbness?”
It wTas in vain that Cedric expostulated with his
guards, who had too many good reasons for their
silence to be induced to break it either by his wrath
or his expostulations. They continued to hurry him
along, traveling at a very rapid rate, until, at the
*nd of an avenue of huge trees, arose Torquilstone,
now the hoary and ancient castle of Reginald Front
de-Bceuf. It was a fortress of no great size, consist¬
ing of a donjon, or large and high square tower, sur¬
rounded by buildings of inferior height, which were
encircled by an inner courtyard. Around the exter¬
ior wall was a deep moat, supplied with water from
a neighboring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose char¬
acter placed him often at feud with his enemies,
had made considerable additions to the strength of
his castle, by building towers upon the outward wall,
so as to flank it at every angle. The access, as usual
I in castles of the period, lay through an arched bar¬
bican, or outwork, which was terminated and de¬
fended by a small turret at each corner.
Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-
Question : Name the plans for distributing the prisoners.
270
IVANIIOE
Boeuf’s castle raise their gray and moss-grown bat¬
tlements, glimmering in the morning sun above the
wood by which they were surrounded, than he in¬
stantly augured more truly concerning the cause of
his misfortune.
“I did injustice,” he said, “to the thieves and
outlaws of these woods, when I supposed such ban¬
ditti to belong to their bands; I might as justly
have confounded the foxes of these brakes with the
ravening wolves of France. Tell me, dogs — is it my
life or my wealth that your master aims at? Is it
too much that two Saxons, myself and the noble
Athelstane, should hold land in the country which
was once the patrimony of our race? — Put us then
to death, and complete your tyranny by taking our
lives, as you began with our liberties. If the Saxon
Cedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to die
for her. Tell your tyrannical master, I do only
beseech him to dismiss the Lady Rowena in honor
and safety. She is a woman, and he need not dread
her; and with us will die all who dare fight in her
cause.”
The attendants remained as mute to his address
as to the former, and they now stood before the gate
of the castle. De Bracy winded his horn three
times, and the archers and cross-bowmen, who had
manned the wall upon seeing their approach, has¬
tened to lower the drawbridge, and admit them.
The prisoners were compelled by their guards to
alight, and were conducted to an apartment where
a hasty repast was offered them, of which none but
Athelstane felt any inclination to partake. Neither
had the descendant of the Confessor much time to
do justice to the good cheer placed before them,
for their guards gave him and Cedric to understand
that they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart
from Rowena> Resistance was vain; and they were
IVANHOE
271
compelled to follow to a large room, which, rising
on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled those refectories
and chapter-houses which may be still seen in the
most ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries.
The Lady Rowena was next separated from her
train, and conducted, with courtesy, indeed, but still
without consulting her inclination, to a distant
apartment. The same alarming distinction was con¬
ferred on Rebecca, in spite of her father’s entreat¬
ies, who offered even money, in his extremity of
distress, that she might be permitted to abide with
him. “Base unbeliever,” answered one of his guards,
“when thou hast seen thy lair, thou wilt not wish
| thy daughter to partake it.” And, without further
discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged off in a
different direction from the other prisoners. The
domestics, after being carefully searched and dis¬
armed, were confined in another part of the castle;
and Rowena was refused even the comfort she might
have derived from the attendance of her handmaiden
Elgitha.
The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were
confined, for to them we turn our first attention, al¬
though at present used as a sort of guard-room, had
formerly been the great hall of the castle. It was
now abandoned to meaner purposes, because the
present lord, among other additions to the conven¬
ience, security, and beauty of his baronical residence,
had erected a new and noble hall, whose vaulted
roof was supported by lighter and more elegant pil¬
lars, and fitted up with that higher degree of orna¬
ment which the Normans had already introduced
j into architecture.
Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant
reflections on the past and on the present, while
272
Ivan hoe
the apathy of his companion served, instead of
patience and philosophy, to defend him against
everything save the inconvenience of the present
moment; and so little did he feel even this last,
that he was only from time to time roused to a
reply by Cedric’s animated and impassioned appeal
to him.
“Yes,” said Cedric, half speaking to himself, and
half addressing himself to Athelstane, “it was in
this very hall that my father feasted with Torquil
Wolfganger, when he entertained the valiant and
unfortunate Harold,1 — then advancing against the
Norwegians, who had united themselves to the rebel
Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returned the
magnanimous answer to the ambassador of his rebel
brother. Oft have I heard my father kindle as he
told the tale. The envoy of Tosti was admitted,
when this ample room could scarce , contain the
crowd of noble Saxon leaders, who were quaffing
the blood-red wine around their monarch.”
“I hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by
this part of his friend’s discourse, “they will not
forget to send us some wine and refections at noon
— we had scarce a breathing-space allowed to break j
our fast, and I never have the benefit of my food
when I eat immediately after dismounting from
horseback, though the leeches recommend that prac¬
tice.”
Cedric went on with his story without noticing
this inter jectional observation of his friend.
“The envoy of Tosti,” he said, “moved up the
hall, undismayed by the frowning countenances of
"The Saxon king defeated by William the Conqueror in
1066 at Hastings. Harold defeated his brother Tosti in a
battle just before Hastings. These times are indeed much
too early for Cedric to remember, but they are interesting
IVANHOE
273
all around him, until he made his obeisance before
the throne of King Harold.
“ ‘What terms,’ he said, ‘Lord King, hath thy
brother Tosti to hope, if he should lay down his
arms, and crave peace at thy hands?’
“ ‘A brother’s love,’ cried the generous Harold,
‘and the fair earldom of Northumberland.’
“ ‘But should Tosti accept these terms,’ con¬
tinued the envoy, ‘what lands shall be assigned to
his faithful ally, Hardrada, King of Norway?’
“ ‘Seven feet of English ground,’ answered
Harold, fiercely, ‘or as Hardrada is said to be a
giant, perhaps we may allow him twelve inches
more.’
“The bell rung with acclamations, and cup and
horn was filled to the Norwegian, who should be
speedily in possession of his English territory.”
“I could have pledged him with all my soul,”
said Athelstane, “for my tongue cleaves to my
palate.”
“The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing
with animation his tale, though it interested not the
listener, “retreated, to carry to Tosti and his ally
the ominous answer to his injured brother. It was
then that the distant towers of York, and the bloody
streams of the Derwent,1 beheld that direful conflict,
in which, after displaying the most undaunted valor,
the King of Norway and Tosti both fell, with ten
thousand of their bravest followers. Who would
have thought that upon the proud day when this bat¬
tle was won, the very gale which saved the Saxon
banners in triumph was filling the Norman sails,
and impelling them to the fatal shores of Sussex?—
Who would have thought that Harold, within a
few brief days, would himself possess no more of
JA river near York. (See appendix).
274
Ivan hoe
his kingdom than the share which he alloted in his
wrath to the Norwegian invader? — Who would have
thought that you, noble Athelstane — that you, de¬
scended of Harold’s blood, and that I, whose father
was not the worst defender of the Saxon crown,
should be prisoners to a vile Norman, in *the very
hall in which our ancestors held such high festival?”
“It is sad enough,” replied Athelstane; “but I
trust they will hold us to a moderate ransom — At
any late it cannot be their purpose to starve us out¬
right; and yet, although it is high noon, I see no
preparations for serving dinner. Look up at the
window, noble Cedric, and judge by the sunbeams if
it is not on the verge of noon.”
“It may be so,” answered Cedric; “but I cannot
look on that stained lattice without its awakening
other reflections than those which concern the pass¬
ing moment, or its privations. When that window
was wrought, my noble friend, our hardy fathers'
knew not the art of making glass, or of staining it
— The pride of Wolfganger’s father brought an artist
from Normandy to adorn his hall with this new
species of emblazonment, that breaks the golden
light of God’s blessed day into so many fantastic
hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly,
cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap to
the meanest native of the household. He returned
pampered and proud, to tell his rapacious country¬
men of the wealth and the simplicity of the Saxon
nobles — a folly, 0, Athelstane, foreboded of old, as
well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist5
and . his hardy tribes, who retained the simplicity of
their manners. We made these strangers our bosom
friends, our confidential servants; we borrowed their
artists and their arts, and despised the honest sim-
tbeader of early invading German forces.
IVANHOE
275
plicity and hardihood with which our brave ances-
i tors supported themselves, and we became enervated
by Norman arts long ere we fell under Norman arms.
Far better was our homely diet, eaten in peace and
liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of
j which hath delivered us as bondsmen to the foreign
j conqueror!”
“I should,” replied Athelstane, “hold very humble
diet a luxury at present; and it astonishes me, noble
Cedric, that you can bear so truly in mind the
memory of past deeds, when it appeareth you forget
the very hour of dinner.”
“It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and im¬
patiently, “to speak to him of aught else but that
which concerns his appetite! The soul of Hardi-
canute1 hath taken possession of him, and he
hath no pleasure save to fill, to swill, and to call
1 for more. Alas!” said he, looking at Athelstane with
compassion, “that so dull a spirit should be lodged
in so goodly a form! Alas! that such an enter¬
prise as the regeneration of England should turn on
a hinge so imperfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed,
her nobler and more generous soul may yet awake
the better nature which is torpid within him. Yet
how should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane, and
I myself remain the prisoners of this brutal ma¬
rauder, and have been made so perhaps from a sense
of the dangers which our liberty might bring to the
usurped power of this nation?”
While the Saxon was plunged in these painful
reflections, the door of their prison opened, and gave
entrance to a sewer, holding his white rod of office.
This* important person advanced into the chamber
with a grave pace, followed by four attendants, bear-
cruel and savage Danish king of England in the
eleventh century.
276
Ivan hoe
ing in a table covered with dishes, the sight and
smell of which seemed to be an instant compensation
to Athelstane for all the inconvenience he had under¬
gone. The persons who attended on the feast were
masked and cloaked.
“What mummery is this?” said Cedric; “think
you that we are ignorant whose prisoners we are,
when we are in the castle of your master? Tell'
him,” he continued, willing to use this opportunity
to open a negotiation for his freedom, — “tell your
master, Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, that we know no
reason he can have for withholding our liberty, ex¬
cepting his unlawful desire to enrich himself at
our expense. Tell him that we yield to his rapacity,
as in similar circumstances we should do to that of
a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at which
he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, providing
the exaction is suited to our means.”
The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head.
“And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said
Athelstane, “that I send him my mortal defiance,
and challenge him to combat with me, on foot or
horseback, at any secure place, within eight days
after our liberation; which, if he be a true knight,
he will not, under these circumstances, venture to
refuse or to delay.”
“I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” an¬
swered the sewer; “meanwhile I leave you to your
food.”
The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with
no good grace; for a large mouthful, which required
the exercise of both jaws at once, added to a natural
hesitation, considerably damped the effect of the
bold defiance it contained. Still, however, his speech
was hailed by Cedric as an incontestable token of
reviving spirit in his companion, whose previous in^
IVANHOE
277
lifference had begun, notwithstanding his respect
for Athelstane’s descent, to wear out his patience.
But he now cordially shook hands with him in token
)f his approbation, and was somewhat grieved when
Athelstane observed “that he would fight a dozen
such men as Front-de-Bceuf, if, by doing, he
:ould hasten his departure from a dungeon where
;hey put so much garlic into their pottage.” Not¬
withstanding this intimation of a relapse into the
apathy of sensuality, Cedric placed himself opposite
:o Athelstane, and soon showed, that if the dis¬
tresses of his country could banish the recollection
of food while the table was uncovered, yet no sooner
were the victuals put there, than he proved that the
appetite of his Saxon ancestors had descended to him
along with their noble qualities.
The captives had not long enjoyed their refresh¬
ment, however, ere their attention was disturbed
even from this most serious occupation by the blast
of a horn winded before the gate. It was repeated
three times, with as much violence as if it had been
blown before an enchanted castle by the destined
knight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbi¬
can and battlement, were to roll off like a morning
vapor. The Saxons started from the table, and has¬
tened to the window. But their curiosity was dis¬
appointed; for these outlets only looked upon the
court of the castle, and the sound came from beyond
its precincts. The summons, however, seemed of
importance, for a considerable degree of bustle in¬
stantly took place in the castle.
CHAPTER XXII
My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter !
— > - O my Christian ducats!
Justice! the Law! my ducats, and my daughter!
Merchant of Venice.
Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their ban¬
quet as soon as their ungratified curiosity should
permit them to attend to the calls of their half-sati¬
ated appetites, we have to look in upon the yet more
severe imprisonment of Isaac of York. The poor
Jew had been hastily thrust into a dungeon-vault of
the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath the
level of the ground, and very damp, being lower than
even the moat itself. The only light was received
through one or two loopholes far above the reach of
the captive's hand. These apertures admitted, even
at midday, only a dim and uncertain light, which
was changed for utter darkness long before the
rest of the castle had lost the blessing of day.
Chains and shackles, which had been the portion of
former captives, from whom active exertions to es¬
cape had been apprehended, hung rusted and empty
on the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one
of those sets of fetters there remained two molder-
ing bones, which seemed to have been once those of
the human leg, as if some prisoner had been left not
only to perish there, but to be consumed to a skele¬
ton.
At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large
fire-ygrate, over the top of which were stretched
some transverse iron bars, half devoured with rust.
The whole appearance of the dungeon might have
Question : What became of Ivanhoe?
Question : What is the significance of the three blasts
from the horn?
IVANHOE
279
appalled a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who,
nevertheless, was more composed under the immi¬
nent pressure of danger, than he had seemed to be
while affected by terrors, of which the cause was as
yet remote and contingent. The lovers of the chase
Isay that the hare feels more agony during the pur¬
suit of the greyhounds than when she is struggling
in their fangs. And thus it is probable that the
Jews, by the very frequency of their fear on all oc¬
casions, had their minds in some degree prepared for
every effort of tyranny which could be practiced
upon them; so that no aggression, when it had taken
place, could bring with it that surprise which is the
most disabling quality of terror. Neither was it
the first time that Isaac had been placed in circum¬
stances so dangerous. He had therefore experience
to guide him, as well as hope, that he might again, as
formerly, be delivered as a prey from the fowler.
Above all, he had upon his side the unyielding ob¬
stinacy of his nation, and that unbending resolution
with which Israelites have been frequently known
to submit to the uttermost evils which power and
violence can inflict upon them, rather than gratify
their oppressors by granting their demands.
In this humor of passive resistance, and with his
garment collected beneath him to keep his limbs
from the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of his
dungeon, where his folded hands, his disheveled
hair and beard, his furred cloak and high cap,
seen by the wiry and broken light, would have af¬
forded a study for Rembrandt,1 had that celebrated
painter existed at the period. The Jew remained,
without altering his position, for nearly three hours,
*A celebrated Dutch painter who was noted for his por¬
traits, especially revealing dark settings and striking fea¬
tures.
280
IVANHOE
at the expiry of which steps were heard on the dun¬
geon stair. The bolts screamed as they were with¬
drawn — the hinges creaked as the wicket opened,
and Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, followed by the two
Saracen slaves of the Templar, entered the prison.
Front-de-Bceuf, a tall and strong man, whose life
had been spent in public war or in private feuds and
broils, and who had hesitated at no means of extend¬
ing his feudal power, had features corresponding to
his character, and which strongly expressed the
fiercer and more malignant passions of the mind.
The scars with which his visage was seamed would,
on features of a different cast, have excited the
sympathy and veneration due to the marks of honor¬
able valor; but, in the peculiar case of Front-de-
Bceuf, they only added to the ferocity of his counten¬
ance, and to the dread which his presence inspired.
This formidable baron was clad in a leathern doub¬
let, fitted close to his body, which was frayed and
soiled with the stains of his armor. He had no
weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which served
to counter-balance the weight of the bunch of rusty
keys that hung at his right side.
The black slaves who attended Front-de-Bceuf
were stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attired
in jerkins and trousers of coarse linen, their sleeves
being tucked up above the elbow, like those of butch¬
ers when about to exercise their function in the
slaughter-house. Each had in his hand a small
pannier; and, when they entered the dungeon, they
stopt at the door until Front-de-Bceuf, himself care¬
fully locked and double-locked it. Having taken this
precaution, he advanced slowly up the apartment
towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed,
as if he wished to paralyze him with his glance, as
some animals are said to fascinate their prey. It
seemed indeed as if the sullen and malignant eye
IVANHOE
281
of Front-de-Boeuf possessed some portion of that
supposed power over his unfortunate prisoner. The
Jew sate with his mouth a-gape, and his eyes fixed
on the savage baron with such earnestness of terror,
that his frame seemed literally to shrink together,
and to diminish in size while encountering the fierce
Norman’s fixed and baleful gaze. The unhappy
Isaac was deprived not only of the power of rising
to make the obeisance which his terror dictated, but
| he could not even doff his cap, or utter any word of
supplication, so strongly was he agitated by the con¬
viction that tortures and death were impending over
him.
On the other hand, the stately form of the Nor¬
man appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the
eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when about to
pounce on its defenseless prey. He paused within
three steps of the corner in which the unfortunate
Jew had now, as it were, coiled himself up into the
smallest possible space, and made a sign for one of
the slaves to approach. The black satellite came
forward accordingly, and, producing from his basket
a large pair of scales and several weights, he laid
them at the feet of Front-de-Bceuf, and again re¬
tired to the respectful distance, at which his com¬
panion had already taken his station.
The motions of these men were slow and solemn,
as if there impended over their souls some precon¬
ception of honor and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf
himself opened the scene by thus addressing his ill-
fated captive.
“Most accursed dog of an accursed race,” he said,
awaking with his deep and sullen voice the sullen
echoes of his dungeon vault, “seest thou these
scales?”
The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.
“In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,
282
Ivan hoe
said the relentless Baron, “a thousand silver pounds,
after the just measure and weight of the Tower of
London.”
“Holy Abraham!” returned the Jew, finding
voice through the very extremity of his danger,
“heard man ever such a demand? Who ever heard,
even in a minstrel’s tale, of such a sum as a thou¬
sand pounds of silver? What human sight was ever
blessed with the vision of such a mass of treasury?
— Not within the walls of York, ransack my house
and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of
that huge sum of silver that thou speakest of.”
“I am reasonable,” answered Front-de-Boeuf,
“and if silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the
rate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of silver,
thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from such
punishment as thy heart has never even conceived.”
“Have mercy on me, noble knight!” exclaimed
Isaac; “I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were
unworthy to triumph over me — It is a poor deed to
crush a worm.”
“Old thou mayst be,” replied the knight; “more
shame to their folly who have suffered thee to grow
gray in usury and knavery — Feeble thou mayst be,
for when had a Jew either heart or hand — But rich
it is well known thou art.”
“I swear to you, noble knight,” said the Jew,
“by all which I believe, and by all which we be¬
lieve in common — ”
“Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, inter¬
rupting him. “and let not thine obstinacy seal thy
doom, until thou hast seen and well considered the
fate that awaits thee. Think not I speak to thee
only to excite thy terror, and practice on the base
cowardice thou hast derived from thy tribe. I swear
to thee by that which thou dost not believe, by the
gospel which our church teaches, and by the keys
Ivan hoe
288
which are given her to bind and to loose, that my
purpose is deep and peremptory. This dungeon is no
place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times
more distinguished than thou have died within these
walls, and their fate hath never been known! But
for thee is reserved a long and lingering death, to
which theirs were luxury.”
He again made a signal for the slaves to approach,
and spoke to them apart, in their own language; for
he also had been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he
had learnt his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens pro¬
duced from their baskets a quantity of charcoal, a
pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. While the one
struck a light with a flint and steel, the other dis¬
posed the charcoal in the large rusty grate which we
have already mentioned, and exercised the bellows
until the fuel came to a red glow.
‘Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Bceuf,
‘the
on
range of iron bars above that glowing charcoal?—
that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy
clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down.
One of these slaves shall maintain the fire beneath
thee while the other shall anoint thy wretched
limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn.— Now,
choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment
of a thousand, pounds of silver; for, by^the head
of my father, thou hast no other option.”
“It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew—
“it is impossible that your purpose can be real!
The good God of nature never made a heart capable
of exercising such cruelty!”
“Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Bceuf,
“it were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who
have seen a town sacked, in which thousands of my
Christian countrymen perished by sword, by flood,
and by fire, will blench from my purpose for the
outcries or screams of one single wretched Jew?
284
Ivan hoe
or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, who
have neither law, country, nor conscience, but their
master’s will — who use the poison, or the stake, or
the poniard, or the cord, at his slightest wink — think¬
est thou that they will have mercy, who do not even
understand the language in which it is asked? — Be
wise, old man; discharge thyself of a portion of thy
superfluous wealth; repay to the hands of a Christ¬
ian a part of what thou hast acquired by the usury
thou hast practiced on those of his religion. Thy
cunning may soon swell out once more thy shriveled
purse, but neither leech nor medicine can restore
thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once stretched
on these bars. Tell down thy ransom, I say, and
rejoice that at such rate thou canst redeem thee
from a dungeon, the secrets of which few have re¬
turned to tell. I waste no more words with thee —
choose between thy dross and thy flesh and blood,
and as thou choosest, so shall it be.”
“So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of
our people assist me,” said Isaac. “I cannot make
the choice, because I have not the means of satis¬
fying your exorbitant demand!”
“Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight,
“and let the fathers of his race assist him if they
can.”
The assistants, taking their directions more from
the Baron’s eye and his hand than his tongue, once
more stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate
Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and holding
him between them, waited the hard-hearted Baron’s
farther signal. The unhappy Jew eyed their coun¬
tenances and that of Front-de-Bceuf, in hope of dis¬
covering some symptoms of relenting; but that of
the Baron exhibited the same cold, half-sullen, half-
sarcastic smile which had been the prelude to his
cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens, roll-
IVANHOE
285
ing gloomily under their dark brows, acquiring a yet
more sinister expression by the whiteness of the
circle which surrounds the pupil, evinced rather the
secret pleasure which they expected from the ap¬
proaching scene, than any reluctance to be its di¬
rectors or agents. The Jew then looked at the glow¬
ing furnace, over which he was presently to be
stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor’s
relenting, his resolution gave way.
“I will pay,” he said, “the thousand pounds of
silver — That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause,
“I will pay it with the help of my brethren; for I
must beg as a mendicant at the door of our syna¬
gogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum. — When
and where must it be delivered?”
“Here,” replied Front-de-Bceuf, “here it must
be delivered — weighed it must be — weighed and told
down on this very dungeon floor. — Thinkest thou
I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?”
“And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew,
“that I shall be at liberty after this ransom is
paid?”
“The word of a Norman noble, thou pawnbroking
slave,” answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “the faith of a
Norman nobleman, more pure than the gold and
silver of thee and all thy tribe.”
“I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac, timidly,
“but wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of
one who will trust nothing to mine?”
“Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the
| knight, sternly. “Wert thou now in thy treasure-
chamber at York, and were I craving a loan of thy
shekels, it would be thine to dictate the time of pay¬
ment, and the pledge of security. This is my treas¬
ure-chamber. Here I have thee at advantage,^ nor
will I again deign to repeat the terms on which I
grant thee liberty.”
286
IVANHOE
The Jew groaned deeply.— “Grant me,” he said,
“at least with my own liberty, that of the compan¬
ions with whom I travel. They scorned me as a
Jew, yet they pitied my desolation, and because they
tarried to aid me by the way, a share of my evil
hath come upon them; moreover, they may contribute
in some sort to my ransom/’
“If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,” said
Front-de-Bceuf, “their ransom will depend upon
other terms than mine. Mind thine own concerns,
Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not with those of
others.”
“I am, then,” said Isaac, “only to be set at liberty,
together with mine wounded friend?”
“Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-
Bceuf, “to a son of Israel, to meddle with his own
concerns, and leave those of others alone? — Since
thou hast made thy choice, it remains but that thou
payest down thy ransom, and that at a short day.”
“Yet hear me,” said the Jew — “for the sake of
that very wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the
expense of thy” — Here he stopped short, afraid of
irritating the savage Norman. But Front-de-Bceuf
only laughed, and himself filled up the blank at
which the Jew had hesitated. “At the expense of
my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak it
out— I tell thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the
reproaches of a loser, even when the loser is a Jew.
Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when thou didst in¬
voke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for calling
thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions had
devoured his patrimony.”
“I swear by the Talmud,” said the Jew, “that
your valor has been misled in that matter. Fitz¬
dotterel drew his poniard upon me in mine own
chambers, because I craved him for mine own silver.
The term of payment was due at the Passover.”
IVANHOE
287
“I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf ;
“the question is, when shall I have mine own? —
when shall I have the shekels, Isaac?”
“Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,” an¬
swered Isaac, “with your safe conduct, noble knight,
and so soon as man and horse can return, the treas¬
ure” — Here he groaned deeply, but added, after the
pause of a few seconds, — “The treasure shall be told
down on this very floor.”
“Thy daughter!” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if sur¬
prised, — “By heavens, Isaac, I would I had known
of this. I deemed that yonder black-browed girl
had been thy concubine, and I gave her to be a
handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Gilbert, after the
fashion of patriarchs and heroes of the days of
old, who set us in these matters a wholesome ex¬
ample.”
The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling com¬
munication made the very vault to ring, and as¬
tounded the two Saracens so much that they let go
their hold of the Jew. He availed himself of his en¬
largement to throw himself on the pavement, and
clasp the knees of Front-de-Bceuf.
“Take all that you have asked,” said he, “Sir
Knight — take fen times more — reduce me to ruin
and to beggary, if thou wilt, — nay, pierce me with
thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but spare my
daughter, deliver her in safety and honor! — As thou
art born of woman spare the honor of a helpless
maiden — She is the image of my deceased Rachel,
she is the last of six pledges of her love — Will you
deprive a widowed husband of his sole remaining
comfort? — Will you reduce a father to wish that his
only living child were laid beside her dead mother,
in the tomb of our fathers?”
“I would,” said the Norman, somewhat relent-
ingly* “that I had known of this before* I thought
288
IVANHOE
your race had loved nothing save their money-bags.”
“Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,”
said Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent
sympathy; “the hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat
loves its young — the despised and persecuted race of
Abraham love their children!”
“Be it so,” said Front-de-Bceuf ; “I will believe
it in future, Isaac, for thy very sake — but it aids us
not now, I cannot help what has happened, or what
is to follow; my word is passed to my comrade in
arms, nor would I break it for ten Jews and Jewesses
to boot. Besides, why shouldst thou think evil is to
come to the girl, even if she became Bois-Gilbert’s
booty?”
“There will, there must!” exclaimed Isaac, wring¬
ing his hands in agony; “when did Templars breathe
aught but cruelty to men, and dishonor to women!”
“Dog of an infidel,” said Front-de-Bceuf, with
sparkling eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pre¬
text of working himself into a passion, “blaspheme
not the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, but take
thought instead to pay me the ransom thou hast
promised, or woe betide thy Jewish throat!”
“Robber and villain!” said the Jew, retorting the
insults of his oppressor with passion, which, how¬
ever impotent, he now found it impossible to bridle,
“I will pay thee nothing — not one silver penny will
I pay thee, unless my daughter is delivered to me in
safety and honor!”
“Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?” said the Nor¬
man, sternly — “has thy flesh and blood a charm
against heated iron and scalding oil?”
“I care not!” said the Jew, rendered desperate
by paternal affection; “do thy worst. My daughter
is my flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times
than those limbs which thy- cruelty threatens. No
silver will I give thee, unless I were to pour it molten
IVANHOE
289
down thy avaricious throat — no, not a silver penny
will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to save thee from
the deep damnation thy whole life has merited!
Take my life if thou wilt, and say, the Jew, amidst
his tortures, knew how to disappoint the Christian.
“We shall see that,” said Front-de-Bceuf ; “for
by the blessed root, which is the abomination of thy
accursed tribe, thou shalt feel the extremities of fire
and steel!— Strip him, slaves, and chain him down
upon the bars.”
In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man.
the Saracens had already torn from him his upper
garment, and were proceeding totally to disrobe
him, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded with¬
out the castle, penetrated even to the recesses of the
dungeon, and immediately after loud voices were
heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Bceuf. Un¬
willing to be found engaged in his hellish occupa¬
tion, the savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to
restore Isaac’s garments, and, quitting the i dungeon
with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank Go
for his own deliverance, or lament over his daugh¬
ter’s captivity and probable fate, as his personal or
parental feelings might prove strongest.
Question : Why do you have greater respect for Isaac
here than you did earlier?
CHAPTER XXIII
Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end,
And love you ’gainst the nature of love, force you.
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had
been introduced was fitted up with some rude at¬
tempts at ornament and magnificence, and her being
placed there might be considered as a peculiar mark
of respect not offered to the other prisoners. But the
wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom it had been origi¬
nally furnished, was long dead, and decay and ne¬
glect had impaired the few ornaments with which
her taste had adorned it. The tapestry hung down
from the walls in many places, and in others was
tarnished and faded under the effects of the sun,
or tattered and decayed by age. Desolate, however,
as it was, this was the apartment of the castle which
had been judged most fitting for the accommodation
of the Saxon heiress; and here she was left to medi¬
tate upon her fate, until the actors in this nefarious
drama had arranged the several parts which each
of them was to perform. This had been settled in
a council held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and
the Templar, in which, after a long and warm debate
concerning the several advantages which each insis¬
ted upon deriving from his peculiar share in this
audacious enterprise, they had at length determined
the fate of their unhappy prisoners.
It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when
De Bracy, for whose advantage the expedition had
been first planned, appeared to prosecute his views
Question : Why did Scott Interrupt at this moment in
the torture of Isaac?
IVANHOE
291
upon the hand and possessions of the Lady Rowena.
The interval had not entirely been bestowed in
holding council with his confederates, for De Bracy
had found leisure to decorate his person with all the
foppery of the times. His green cassock and vizard
were now flung aside. His long luxuriant hair
was trained to flow in quaint tresses down his
richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved,
his doublet reached to the middle of his leg, and the
girdle which secured it, and at the same time sup¬
ported his ponderous sword, was embroidered and
embossed with gold work. We have already noticed
the extravagant fashion of the shoes at this period,
and the points of Maurice De Bracy’s might have
challenged the prize of extravagance with the gay¬
est, being turned up and twisteid like the horns of a
ram. Such was the dress of a gallant of the period :
I and, in the present instance, that effect was aided
by the handsome person and good demeanor of the
wearer, whose manners partook alike of the grace of
a courtier, and the frankness of a soldier.
He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet,
garnished with a golden brooch, representing St.
Michael trampling down the Prince of Evil. With
this, he gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, as
she still retained her standing posture, the knight
! ungloved his right hand, and motioned to conduct
j her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture,
the proffered compliment, and replied, “If I be in
the presence of my jailer, Sir Knight— nor will cir¬
cumstances allow me to think otherwise— it best be-
j comes his prisoner to remain standing till she learns
i her doom.” _ _ i(
“Alas! fair Rowena,” returned De Bracy you
are in the presence of your captive, not your jailer;
and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy must re¬
ceive that doom which you fondly expect from him.
292
IVANIIOE
“I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing
herself up with all the pride of offended rank and
beauty; ‘‘I know you not — and the insolent familiar¬
ity with which you apply to me the jargon of a trou¬
badour forms no apology for the violence of a robber.”
“To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in
his former tone — “to thine own charms be ascribed
whate’er I have done which passed the respect due
to her, whom I have chosen queen of my heart, and
loadstar of my eyes.”
“I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not,
and that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus
to intrude himself upon the presence of an unpro¬
tected lady.”
“That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “is
indeed my misfortune; yet let me hope that De
B racy’s name has not been always unspoken, when
minstrels or heralds have praised deeds of chivalry,
whether in the lists or in the battle-field.”
“To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy
praise, Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “more suiting
for their mouths than for thine own; and tell me
which of them shall record in song, or in book of
tourney, the memorable conquest of this night, a
conquest obtained over an old man, followed by a
few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate
maiden, transported against her will to the castle of
a robber?”
“You are unjust, Lady Rowena,” said the knight,
biting his lips in some confusion, and speaking in a
tone more natural to him than that of aifected gal-
antry, which he had at first adopted; “yourself free
from passion, you can allow no excuse for the frenzy
rj£ another, although caused by your own beauty.”
“I pray you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “to cease
a language so commonly used by strolling minstrels,
that it becomes not the mouth of knights or nobles.
Ivan hoe
293
Certes, you constrain me to sit down, since you en¬
ter upon such commonplace terms, of which each vile
crowder' hath a stock that might last from hence to
Christmas.”
“Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at find¬
ing his gallant style procured him nothing but con¬
tempt — “proud damsel, thou shalt be as proudly en¬
countered. Know then, that I have supported my
pretensions to your hand in the way that best suited
thy character. It is meeter for thy humor to be
wooed with bow and bill, than in set terms, and in
courtly language.”
“Courtesy of tongue,” said Rowena, “when it is
used to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s
girdle around the breast of a base clown. I wonder
not that the restraint appears to gall you — more it
were for your honor to have retained the dress and
I language of an outlaw, than to veil the deeds of one
under an affectation of gentle language and demean¬
or.”
“You counsel well, lady,” said the Norman; “and
in the bold language which best justifies bold action,
I tell thee, thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou
shalt leave it as Maurice de Bracy’s wife. I am not
! wont to be baffled in my enterprises, nor needs a Nor-
t man noble scrupulously to vindicate his conduct to
the Saxon maiden whom he distinguishes by the offer
! of his hand. Thou art proud, Rowena, and thou art
the fitter to be my wife. By what other means couldst
thou be raised to high honor and to princely place,
saving by my “alliance? How else wouldst thou es-
1 cape from the mean precincts of a country grange,
| where Saxons herd with the swine which form their
wealth, to take thy seat, honored as thou shouldst be,
aPlayer upon the “crowd,” an ancient instrument .much
like a violin.
294
IVANHOE
and shalt be, amid all in England that is distin¬
guished by beauty, or dignified by power?”
“Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “the grange which
you contemn hath been my shelter from infancy; and,
trust me, when I leave it — should that day ever ar¬
rive — it shall be with one who has not learnt to
despise the dwelling and manners in which I have
been brought up.”
“I guess your meaning, lady,” said De Bracy,
“though you may think it lies too obscure for my
apprehension. But dream not, that Richard Coeur-
de-Lion will ever resume his throne, far less that
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his minion, will ever lead thee to
his footstool, to be there welcomed as the bride of a
favorite. Another suitor might feel jealousy while
he touched this string; but my firm purpose cannot
be changed by a passion so childish and so hopeless.
Know, lady, that this rival is in my power, and that
it rests but with me to betray the secret of his being
within the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, whose jealousy
will be more fatal than mine.”
“Wilfred here?” said Rowena, in disdain; “that is
as true as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.”
De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant.
“Wert thou really ignorant of this?” said he; “didst
thou not know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe traveled in
the litter of the Jew? — a meet conveyance for the
crusader, whose doughty arm was to reconquer the
Holy Sepulcher!” And he laughed scornfully.
“And if he is here,” said Rowena, compelling her¬
self to a tone of indifference, though trembling with
an agony of apprehension which she could not sup¬
press, “in what is he the rival of Front-de-Boeuf? or
what has he to fear beyond a short imprisonment,
and an honorable ransom, according to the use of
chivalry?”
“Rowena,” said De Bracy, “art thou, too, deceived
IVANHOE
295
by the common error of thy sex, who think there
can be no rivalry but that respecting their own
charms? Knowest thou not there is a jealousy of
ambition and of wealth, as well as of love; and that
this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will push from his
road him who opposes his claim to the fair barony
of Ivanhoe, as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously,
; as if he were preferred to him by some blue-eyed
damsel? But smile on my suit, lady, and the wounded
! champion shall have nothing to fear from Front-de-
Boeuf, whom else thou mayst mourn for as in the
hands of one who has never shown compassion.”
“Save him, for the love of Heaven!” said Rowena,
her firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s
impending fate.
“I can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy;
“for, when Rowena consents to be the bride of De
Bracy, who is it shall dare to put forth a violent
hand upon her kinsman — the son of her guardian —
the companion of her youth? But it is thy love must
buy his protection. I am not romantic fool enough to
further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one who
is likely to be a successful obstacle between me and
my wishes. Use thine influence with me in his be¬
half, and he is safe, — refuse to employ it, Wilfred
dies, and thou thyself art not the nearer to freedom.”
“Thy language,” answered Rowena, “hath in its
indifferent bluntness something which cannot be recon¬
ciled with the horrors it seems to express. I be¬
lieve not that thy purpose is so wicked, or thy pow¬
er so great.”
“Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,” said De
Bracy, “until time shall prove it false. Thy lover
lies wounded in this castle — thy preferred lover. He
Question: What made Rowena lose her courage when
she had been brave at the entrance of De Bracy ?
296
IVANHOE
is a bar betwixt Front-de-Boeuf and that which Front-
de-Boeuf loves better than either ambition or beauty.
What will it cost beyond the blow of a poniard, or
the thrust of a javelin, to silence his opposition for¬
ever? Nay, were Front-de-Bceuf afraid to justify
a deed so open, let the leech but give his patient
a wrong draught — let the chamberlain, or the nurse
who tends him, but pluck the pillow from his head,
and Wilfred, in his present condition, is sped with¬
out the effusion of blood. Cedric also — ”
“And Cedric also,” said Rowena, repeating his
words; “my noble — my generous guardian! I de¬
served the evil I have encountered, for forgetting his
fate even in that of his son!”
“Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determina¬
tion,” said De Bracy; “and I leave thee to form it.”
Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this
trying scene with undismayed courage, but it was
because she had not considered the danger as serious
and imminent. Her disposition was naturally that
which physiognomists consider as proper to fair com¬
plexions, mild,, timid, and gentle; but it had been
tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by the circum¬
stances of her education. Accustomed to see the will
of all, even of Cedric himself, (sufficiently arbitrary
with others,) give way before her wishes, she had
acquired that sort of courage and self-confidence
which arises from the habitual and constant defer¬
ence of the circle in which we move. She could scarce
conceive the possibility of her will being opposed, far
less that of its being treated with total disregard.
Her haughtiness and habit of domination was,
therefore, a fictitious character, induced over that
which was natural to her, and it deserted her when
her eyes were opened to the extent of her own danger,
as well as that of her lover and her guardian; and
when she found her will, the slightest expression of
IVANHOE
297
which was wont to command respect and attention,
now placed in opposition to that of a man of a strong,
fierce, and determined mind, who possessed the ad¬
vantage over her, and was resolved to use it, she
quailed before him.
After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the
aid which was nowhere to be found, and after a few
broken interjections, she raised her hands to heaven,
and burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation
and sorrow. It was impossible to see so beautiful
a creature in such extremity without feeling for her,
and De Bracy was not unmoved, though he was yet
more embarrassed than touched. He had, in truth,
gone too far to recede; and yet, in Rowena’s present
condition, she could not be acted on either by argu¬
ment or threats. He paced the apartment to and
fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to
compose herself, now hesitating concerning his own
line of conduct.
“If,” thought he, “I should be moved by the tears
and sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what should
I reap but the loss of those fair hopes for which I
have encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of
Prince John and his jovial comrades? And yet,” he
said to himself, “I feel myself ill framed for the part
which I am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face
while it is disturbed with agony, or on those eyes
when they are drowned in tears. I would she had re¬
tained her original haughtiness of disposition, or that
I had a larger share of Front-de-Bceuf’s thrice tem¬
pered hardness of heart!”
Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the
unfortunate Rowena be comforted, and assure her,
that as yet she had no reason for the excess of de¬
spair to which she was now giving way. But in this
task of consolation De Bracy was interrupted by
the horn, “hoarse-winded blowing far and keen,”
298
IVANHOE
which had at the same time alarmed the other in¬
mates of the castle, and interrupted their several
plans of avarice and of license. Of them all, perhaps,
De Bracy least regretted the interruption; for his
conference with the Lady Rowena had arrived at a
point where he found it equally difficult to prosecute
or to resign his enterprise.
And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer
some better proof than the incidents of an idle tale,
to vindicate the melancholy representation of man¬
ners which has been just laid before the reader. It
is grievous to think that those valiant barons, to
whose stand against the crown the liberties of Eng¬
land were indebted for their existence, should them-'
selves have been such dreadful oppressors, and ca¬
pable of excesses contrary not only to the laws of Eng¬
land, but to those of nature and humanity. But,
alas! we have only to extract from the industrious
Henry one of those numerous passages which he has
collected from contemporary historians, to prove that
fiction itself can hardly reach the dark reality of the
horrors of the period.
The description given by the author of the Saxon
Chronicle of the cruelties exercised in the reign of
King Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles,
who were all Normans, affords a strong proof of the
excesses of which they were capable when their pas¬
sions were inflamed. “They grievously oppressed the
poor people by building castles; and when they were
built, they filled them with wicked men, or rather
devils, who seized both men and women who they
imagined had any money, threw them into prison,
and put them to more cruel tortures than the martyrs
ever endured. They suffocated some in mud, and sus-
Question: What is the meaning of the blowing of the
horn?
IVANHOE
299
I pended others by the feet, or the head, or the thumbs,
j kindling fires below them. They squeezed the heads of
i some with knotted cords till they pierced their brains,
; while they threw others into dungeons swarming with
serpents, snakes, and toads.” But it would be cruel
to put the reader to the pain of perusing the remain¬
der of this description.
As another instance of these bitter fruits of con¬
quest, and perhaps the strongest that can be quoted,
we may mention that the Empress Matilda, though
a daughter of the King of Scotland, and afterwards
both Queen of England and Empress of Germany,
the daughter, the wife, and the mother of monarchs,
was obliged, during her early residence for education
in England, to assume the veil of a nun, as the only
means of escaping the licentious pursuit of the Nor¬
man nobles. This excuse she stated before a great
council of the clergy of England, as the sole reason
for her having taken the religious habit. The as¬
sembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, and
the notoriety of the circumstances upon which it was
founded, giving thus an indubitable and most re¬
markable testimony to the existence of that disgrace¬
ful license by which that age was stained. It was a
matter of public knowledge, they said, that after the
conquest of King William, his Norman followers,
elated by so great a victory, acknowledged no law
but their own wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled
the conquered Saxons of their lands and their goods,
but invaded the honor of their wives and of their
daughters with the most unbridled license; and
hence it was then common for matrons and maidens
of noble families to assume the veil, and take shelter
in convents,, not as called thither by the vocation of
God, but solely to preserve their honor from the un¬
bridled wickedness of man.
Such and so licentious were the times, as an-
300
Ivan hoe
nounced by the public declaration of the assembled
clergy, recorded by Eadmer ; and we need add nothing
more to vindicate the probability of the scenes which
we have detailed, and are about to detail, upon the
more apocryphal authority of the Wardour MS.
CHAPTER XXIV
I’ll woo her as the lion woos his bride.
Douglas.
While the scenes we have described were passing
in other parts of the castle, the Jewess Rebecca
awaited her fate in a distant and sequestered turret.
Hither she had been led by two of her disguised rav-
ishers, and on being thrust into the little cell, she
found herself in the presence of an old sibyl, who
kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to
beat time to the revolving dance which her spindle
was performing upon the floor. The hag raised her
head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at the fair
Jewess with the malignant envy with which old age
and ugliness, when united with evil conditions, are
apt to look upon youth and beauty.
“Thou must up and away, old house-cricket.” said
one of the men; “our noble master commands it —
| Thou must e’en leave this chamber to a fairer guest.”
“Ay,” grumbled the hag, “even thus is service re¬
quitted. I have known when my bare word would
have cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of sad-
| die and out of service ; and now must I up and away
at the command of every groom such as thou.”
“Good Dame Urfried,” said the other man, “stand
not to reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ hests
must be listened to with a quick ear. Thou hast had
thy day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set.
Thou art now the very emblem of an old war-horse
turned out on the barren heath — thou hast had thy
paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best
of them — Come, amble off with thee.”
“Ill omens dog ye both!” said the old woman; “and
a kennel be your burying-place ! May the evil demon
! 2ernebock tear me limb from limb, if I leave my
302
IVANHOE
own cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff!”
“Answer it to our lord, then, old house-fiend,” said
the man, and retired, leaving Rebecca in company
with the old woman, upon whose presence she had
been thus unwillingly forced.
“What devil’s deed have they now in the wind?” j
said the bid hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time
to time casting a sidelong and malignant glance at
Rebecca; “but it is easy to guess — Bright eyes, black
locks, and a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it
with his black unguent — Ay, it is easy to guess why
they send her to this lone turret, whence a shriek
could no more be heard than at the depth of five hun¬
dred fathoms beneath the earth. — Thou wilt have owls
for thy neighbor, fair one; and their screams will be E
heard as far, and as much regarded, as thine own. !
Outlandish, too,” she said, marking the dress and
turban of Rebecca — “What country art thou of? — a
Saracen? or an Egyptian — Why dost not answer? — 1
thou canst weep,, canst thou not speak?”
“Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca.
“Thou needst say no more,” replied Urfried; “men
know a fox by the train and a Jewess by her tongue.”
“For the sake of mercy,” said Rebecca, “tell me |
what I am to expect as the conclusion of the violence !
which hath dragged me hither! Is it my life they
seek, to atone for my religion? I will lay it down
cheerfully.”
“Thy life, minion!” answered the sibyl; “what
would taking thy life pleasure them? — Trust me, thy
life is in no peril. Such usage shalt thou have as
was once thought good enough for a noble Saxon
maiden. And shall a Jewess, like thee, repine be¬
cause she hath no better? Look at me — I was as
young and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf,
father of this Reginald, and his Normans, stormed
this castle. My father and his seven sons defended
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303
heir inheritance from story to story, from chamber
P chamber — There was not a room, not a step of the
fairs, that was not slippery with their blood. They
ied — they died every man ; and ere their bodies were
old, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the
rey and the scorn of the conqueror!”
“Is there no help? — Are there no means of escape?”
aid Rebecca — “Richly, richly would I requite thine
lid.”
“Think not of it,” said the hag; “from hence there
5 no escape but through the gates of death; and it
5 late, late,” she added, shaking her gray head, “ere
hese open to us — Yet it is comfort to think that we
lave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched
s ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess! — Jew or Gen-
ile, thy fate would be the same; for thou hast to do
/ith them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare
hee well, I say. My thread is spun out — thy task
5 yet to begin.”
“Stay! stay! for Heaven’s sake!” said Rebecca;
stay, though it be to curse and to revile me — thy
resence is yet some protection.”
“The presence of the mother of God were no pro-
ection,” answered the old woman. “There she
itands,” pointing to a rude image of the Virgin
Jary, “see if she can avert the fate that awaits thee.”
She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed
nfo a sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem
wen more hideous than their habitual frown. She
3cked the door behind her, and Rebecca might hear
fer curse every step for its steepness, as slowly and
jrith difficulty she descended the turret-stair.
Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dread-
ul than that of Rowena; for what probability was
here that either softness or ceremony would be used
owards one of her oppressed race, whatever shadow
if those might be preserved towards a Saxon heiress?
304
Ivan hoe
Yet had the Jewess this advantage, that she was
better prepared by habits of thought, and by natural
strength of mind, to encounter the dangers to which
she was exposed. Of a strong and observing charac¬
ter, even from her earliest years, the pomp and wealth
which her father displayed within his walls, or which
she witnessed in the houses of other wealthy He¬
brews, had not been able to blind her to the precari¬
ous circumstances under which they were enjoyed.
Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca
perpetually beheld, amid that georgeous display, the
sword which was suspended over the heads of her
people by a single hair. These reflections had tamed
and brought down to a pitch of sounder judgment a
temper, which under other circumstances, might
have waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate.
From her father’s examples and injunctions, Re¬
becca had learnt to bear herself courteously towards
all who approached her. She could not indeed imi¬
tate his excess of subservience, because she was a
stranger to the meanness of mind, and to the constant
state of timid apprehension, by which it was dictated ;
but she bore herself with a proud humility, as if sub¬
mitting to the evil circumstances in which she was
placed as the daughter of a despised race, while she
felt in her mind the consciousness that she was en¬
titled to hold a higher rank from her merit, than the
arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted
her to aspire to.
Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances,
she had acquired the firmness necessary for acting
under them. Her present situation required all her
aSee Greek mythology. Dionysius I, of Syracuse placec
Damocles at a banquet beneath a sword suspended by i
hair, because Damocles had praised the happiness of kings
IVANHOE
305
presence of mind, and she summoned it up accord¬
ingly.
I Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but
;it afforded few hopes either of escape or protection.
It contained neither secret passage nor trap-door, and
unless where the door by which she had entered
joined the main building, seemed to be circumscribed
by the round exterior wall of the turret. The door
had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened
upon an embattled space surmounting the turret,
which gave Rebecca, at first sight, some hopes of es¬
caping; but she soon found it had no communication
with any other part of the battlements,, being an iso¬
lated bartizan, or balcony,, secured, as usual, by
a parapet, with embrasures, at which a few archers
imight be stationed for defending the turret, and
flanking with their shot the wall of the castle on that
side.
There was therefore no hope but in passive forti¬
tude, and in that strong reliance on Heaven natural
to great and generous characters. Rebecca, however
erroneously taught to interpret the promises of
Scripture to the chosen people of Heaven, did not
err in supposing the present to be their hour of trial,
or in trusting that the children of Zion would be
one day called in with the fullness of the Gentiles.
In the meanwhile, all around her showed that their
(present state was that of punishment and probation,
and that it was their especial duty to suffer without
sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the
victim of misfortune, Rebecca had early reflected
upon her own state, and schooled her mind to meet
the dangers which she had probably to encounter.
The prisoner trembled,, however, and changed
color, when a step was heard on the stair, and the
door of the turret-chamber slowly opened, and a tall
man, dressed as one of those banditti to whom they
306
IVANHOE
owed their misfortune, slowly entered, and shut the
door behind him; his cap, pulled down upon his
brows, concealed the upper part of his face, and he
held his mantle in such a manner as to muffle the rest.
In this guise, as if prepared for the execution of some
deed, at the thought of which he was himself
ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; yet,
ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss
to express what purpose had brought him thither, so
that Rebecca, making an effort upon herself, had time
to anticipate his explanation. She had already un¬
clasped two costly bracelets and a collar, which she
hastened to proffer to the supposed outlaw, con¬
cluding naturally that to gratify his avarice was to
bespeak his favor.
“Take these,” she said, “good friend, and for
God’s sake be merciful to me and my aged father!
These ornaments are of value, yet are they trifling
to what he would bestow to obtain our dismissal from
this castle, free and uninjured.”
“Fair flower of Palestine,” replied the outlaw,
“these pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness
to your teeth; the diamonds are brilliant, but they
cannot match your eyes; and ever since I have taken
up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer
beauty to wealth.”
“Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Rebecca,
“take ransom, and have mercy! — God will purchase
your pleasure, — to misuse us, could only bring thee
remorse. My father will willingly satiate thy utmost
wishes ; and if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst pur¬
chase with our spoils thy restoration to civil society
— mayst obtain pardon for past errors, and be placed
beyond the necessity of committing more.”
“It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French,
finding it difficult probably to sustain, in Saxon, a
conversation which Rebecca had opened in that lan-
IVANHOE
307
guage; “but know, bright lily of the vale of Baca!1
that thy father is already in the hands of a powerful
alchemist, who knows how to convert into gold and
silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The
venerable Isaac is subjected to an alembic, which will
distill from him all he holds dear, without any assist¬
ance from my requests, or thy entreaty. Thy ran¬
som must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other
coin will I accept it.”
“Thou art no outlaw,” said Rebecca, in the same
language in which he addressed her; “no outlaw
had refused such offers. No outlaw in this land uses
the dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou art no
outlaw, but a Norman— a Norman, noble perhaps in
birth — 0, be so in thy actions, and cast off this fear¬
ful mask of outrage and violence!”
“And thou, who canst guess so truly,” said Brian
de Bois-Gilbert, dropping the mantle from his face,
“art no true daughter of Israel, but in all, save
youth and beauty, a very witch of Endor.2 I am not
an outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon. And I am one
who will be more prompt to hang thy neck and arms
with pearls and diamonds, which so well become
them, than to deprive thee of these ornaments.”
“What wouldst thou have of me,” said Rebecca,
“if not my wealth? — We can have naught in com¬
mon between us— you are a Christian— I am a Jew¬
ess. — Our union were contrary to the laws, alike of
the church and the synagogue.”
“It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laugh¬
ing “wed with a Jewess? Desyardieux! Not if
she were the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides,
sweet daughter of Zion, that were the most Christian
’Psalms LXXXIV, 6.
’I Samuel XXVIII, 7-25.
308
IVANHOE
king to offer me his most Christian daughter, with
Languedoc, for a dowry, I could not wed her. It is
against my vow to love any maiden, otherwise than
par amours, as I will love thee. I am a Templar.
Behold the cross of my Holy Order.”
“Darest thou appeal to it,” said Rebecca, “on an
occasion like the present?”
“And if I do so,” said the Templar, “it concerns
not thee, who’ art no believer in the blessed sign of
our salvation.”
“I believe as my fathers taught,” said Rebecca;
“and may God forgive my belief if erroneous! But
you, Sir Knight, what is yours, when you appeal
without scruple to that which you deem most holy,
even while you are about to transgress the most
solemn of your vows as a knight, and as a man of
religion?”
“It is gravely and well preached, 0 daughter of
Sirach!” answered the Templar; “but, gentle Eccle-
siastica, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make thee
blind to our high privileges. Marriage were an
enduring crime on the part of a Templar; but
what lesser folly I may practice, I shall speedily be
absolved from at the next Preceptory of our Order.
Not the wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose
examples you must needs allow are weighty, claimed
wider privileges than we poor soldiers of the Temple
of Zion have won by our zeal in its defense. The
protectors of Solomon’s Temple may claim license by
the example of Solomon.”
“If thou readest the Scripture,” said the Jewess,
“and the lives of the saints, only to justify thine own
license and profligacy, thy crime is like that of him
who extracts poison from the most healthful and nec¬
essary herbs.”
The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this re¬
proof. — “Hearken,” he said, “Rebecca; I have
IVANHOE
309
i
hitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now my language
shall be that of a conqueror. Thou art the captive of
my bow and spear — subject to my will by the laws of
all nations; nor will I abate an inch of my right, or
abstain from taking by violence what thou refusest
to entreaty or necessity/’
“Stand back,” said Rebecca — “stand back, and
hear me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly!
My strength thou mayst indeed overpower, for God
made women weak, and trusted their defense to
man’s generosity. But I will proclaim thy villainy,
| Templar, from one end of Europe to the other. I
will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what
their compassion might refuse me. Each Preceptory
— each Chapter of thy Order, shall learn, that, like
; a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those
| who tremble not at thy crime, will hold thee ac¬
cursed for having so far dishonored the cross thou
wearest, as to follow a daughter of my people.”
“Thou are keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Tem¬
plar, well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and
that the rules of his Order condemned in the most
positive manner, and under high penalties, such
intrigues as he now prosecuted, and that, in some
instances, even degradation had followed upon it —
“thou art sharp-witted,” he said; “but loud must be
thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond the iron
walls of this castle; within these, murmurs, laments,
appeals to justice, and screams for help, die alike
silent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca.
Submit to thy fate — embrace our religion, and thou
shalt go forth in such state, that many a Norman
lady shall yield as well in pomp as in beauty to the
favorite of the best lance among the defenders of the
Temple.”
“Submit to my fate!” said Rebecca — “and, sa¬
cred Heaven! to what fate? — embrace thy religion!
310
IVANHOE
and what religion can it be that harbors such a vil¬
lain? — thou the best lance of the Templars! — Craven
knight! — forsworn priest! I spit at thee, and I defy
thee.— The God of Abraham’s promise hath opened
an escape to his daughter — even from this abyss of
infamy!”
As she spoke, she threw open the lattice window
which led to the bartizan, and in an instant after,
stood on the very verge of the parapet, with not the
slightest screen between her and the tremendous
depth below. Unprepared for such a desperate effort,
for she had hitherto stood perfectly motionless, Bois-
Guilbert had neither time to intercept nor to stop
her. As he offered to advance,, she exclaimed, “Re¬
main where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice
advance! — one foot nearer, and I plunge myself
from the precipice, my body shall be crushed out of
the very form of humanity upon the stones of that
courtyard, ere it become the victim of thy brutal¬
ity!”
As she spoke this, she elapsed her hands and ex¬
tended them towards Heaven, as if imploring mercy
on her soul before she made the final plunge. The
Templar hesitated, and a resolution which had never
yielded to pity or distress, gave way to his admiration
of her fortitude. “Come down,” he said, “rash
girl ! — I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I will
offer thee no offense.”
“I will not trust thee. Templar,” said Rebecca;
“thou hast taught me better how to estimate the
virtues of thine Order. The next Preceptory would
grant thee absolution for an oath, the keeping of
which concerned naught but the honor or the dis¬
honor of a miserable Jewish maiden.”
“You do me injustice,” exclaimed the Templar,
fervently; “I swear to you by the name which I
bear — by the cross on my bosom — by the sword on
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311
my side — by the ancient crest of my fathers do I
swear, I will do thee no injury whatsoever! If not
for thyself, yet for thy father’s sake forbear! I
will be his friend, and in this castle he will need a
powerful one.”
“Alas!” said Rebecca, “I know it but too well —
dare I trust thee?”
“May my arms be reversed, and my name dis¬
honored,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “if thou
shalt have reason to complain of me! Many a law,
many a commandment have I broken, but my word
never.”
“I will then trust thee,” said Rebecca, “thus
far;” and she descended from the verge of the battle¬
ment. but remained standing close by one of the em¬
brasures, or machicolles, as they were then called. —
“nere," sne said, **i take my stand. Remain where
thou art, and if thou shalt attempt to diminish
by one step the distance now between us, thou
shalt see that the Jewish maiden will rather trust
her soul with God, than her honor to the Templar!”
While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm re¬
solve which corresponded so well with the expressive
beauty of her countenance, gave to her looks, air, and
manner, a dignity that seemed more than mortal.
Her glance quailed not, her cheek blanched not for
the fear of a fate so instant and so horrible; on the
contrary,, the thought that she had her fate at her
command, and could escape at will from infamy to
death, gave a yet deeper color of carnation to her
complexion, and a yet more brilliant fire to her eye.
Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and high-spirited,
thought he had never beheld beauty so animated and
so commanding.
“Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,” he said.
“Peace, if thou wilt,” answered Rebecca— “peace
— but with this space between,”
312
Ivan hoe
“Thou needst no longer fear me,” said Bois-
Guilbert.
“I fear thee not,” replied she, “thanks to him
that reared this dizzy tower so high, that naught
could fall from it and live — thanks to him, and to
the God of Israel! — I fear thee not.”
“Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar;
“by earth, sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice! 1
am not naturally that which you have seen me, hard,
selfish, and relentless. It was woman that taught
me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exer¬
cised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear me, Re¬
becca. — Never did knight take lance in his hand with
a heart more devoted to the lady of his love than
Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the daughter of a
petty baron, who boasted for all his domains but
a ruinous tower, and an unproductive vineyard, and
some few leagues of the barren Landes of Bordeaux,
her name was known wherever deeds of arms were
done, known wider than that of many a lady’s that
had a county for a dowry. — Yes,” he continued,
pacing up and down the little platform, with an ani¬
mation in which he seemed to lose all consciousness of
Rebecca’s presence — “Yes, my deeds, my danger, my
blood, made the name of Adelaide de Montemare
known from the court of Castle to that of Byzantium.1
And how was I requited? — When I returned with
my dear-bought honors, purchased by toil and blood,
I found her wedded to a Gascon squire, whose name
was never heard beyond the limits of his own paltry
domain! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did I
revenge me of her broken faith! But my vengeance
has recoiled on myself. Since that day I have sepa¬
rated myself from life and its ties— My manhood
1From Spain to Constantinople.
■A native of Glascony, a French province.
IVANHOE
313
must know no domestic home — must be soothed by
no affectionate wife— My age must know no kindly
hearth — My grave must be solitary, and no offspring
must outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois-
Guilbert. At the feet of my Superior I have laid
down the right of self-action— the privilege of inde¬
pendence. The Templar, a serf in all but the name,
can possess neither lands nor goods, and lives, moves,
and breathes, but at the will and pleasure of another.”
“Alas!” said Rebecca, “what advantages could
compensate for such an absolute sacrifice?”
“The power of vengeance, Rebecca,” replied the
Templar, “and the prospects of ambition.”
“An evil recompense,” said Rebecca, “for the
surrender of the rights which are dearest to human¬
ity.”
“Say not so, maiden,” answered the Templar;
“revenge is a feast for the gods! And if they have
reserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves, it is be¬
cause they hold it an enjoyment too precious for the
possession of mere mortals. — And ambition .? It is
a temptation which could disturb even the bliss of
heaven itself.”— He paused a moment, and then
added, “Rebecca! she who could prefer death to dis¬
honor, must have a proud and a powerful soul. Mine
thou must be! — Nay, start not,” he added, “it must
be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms.
Thou must consent to share with me hopes more ex¬
tended than can be viewed from the throne of a mon¬
arch! — Hear me ere you answer, and judge ere you
refuse. — The Templar loses, as thou hast said, his
social rights, his power of free agency, but he be¬
comes a member and a limb of a mighty body, before
which thrones already tremble, — even as the single
drop of rain which mixes with the sea becomes an
individual part of that resistless ocean, which under¬
mines rocks and engulfs royal armadas. Such a
314
IVANHOE
swelling flood is that powerful league. Of this mighty
Order I am no mean member, but already one of the
Chief Commanders,, and may well aspire one day to
hold the batoon of Grand Master. The poor soldiers
of the Temple will not alone place their foot upon
the necks of kings — a hemp-sandal’d monk can do
that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne —
our gauntlet shall wrench the scepter from their
gripe. Not the reign of your vainly-expected Mes¬
siah offers such power to your dispersed tribes as my
ambition may aim at. 1 have sought but a kindred
spirit to share it, and I have found such in thee.”
“Sayest thou this to one of my people?” an¬
swered Rebecca. “Bethink thee — ”
“Answer me not,” said the Templar, “by urging
the difference of our creeds; within our secret con¬
claves we hold these nursery tales in derision. Think
not we long remained blind to the idiotical folly of
our founders,, who forswore every delight of life for
the pleasure of dying martyrs by hunger, by thirst,
and by pestilence, and by the swords of savages,
while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert,
valuable only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order
soon adopted bolder and wider views, and found out
a better indemnification for our sacrifices. Our im¬
mense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our
high military fame, which brings within our circle
the flower of chivalry from every Christian clime —
these are dedicated to ends of which our pious foun¬
ders little dreamed, and which are equally concealed
from such weak spirits as embrace our Order on
the ancient principles, and whose superstition makes
them our passive tools. But I will not further with¬
draw the veil of our mysteries. That bugle-sound an¬
nounces something which may require my presence.
Think on what I have said. — Farewell! — I do not
say forgive me the violence I have threatened, for it
IVANHOE
315
was necessary to the display of thy character. Gold
can be only known by the application of the touch¬
stone. I will soon return, and hold further con¬
ference with thee.”
| He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended
the stair, leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrified at
the prospect of the death to which she had been so
lately exposed, than at the furious ambition of the
bold bad man in whose power she found herself so
unhappily placed. When she entered the turret-
chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to the
God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded
| her, and to implore its continuance for her and for
her father. Another name glided into her petition—-
l it was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had
placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed
enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as if, even
in communing with the Deity in prayer, she mingled
in her devotions the recollections of one with whose
fate hers could have no alliance — a Nazarene, and
an enemy to her faith. But the petition was already
breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices of her
sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.
Question: Wlhat one circumstance lets you know that
the events of the last four chapters all took place at the
S£l Question: How do you suggest that they all succeed
in getting out?
CHAPTER XXV
A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as
ever I saw in my life.
She Stoops to Conquer.
When the Templar reached the hall of the castle,
he found De Bracy already there. “Your love-suit,”
said De Bracy, “hath, I suppose, been disturbed,
like mine, by this obstreperous summons. But you
have come later and more reluctantly, and therefore
I presume your interview has proven more agree¬
able than mine.”
“Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to
the Saxon heiress?” said the Templar.
By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered
De Bracy, “the Lady Rowena must have heard that
I cannot endure the sight of women’s tears.”
“Away!” said the Templar; “thou a leader of a
Free Company, and regard a woman’s tears! A few
drops sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame
blaze the brighter.”
“Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,”
replied De Bracy; “but this damsel hath wept
enough to extinguish a beacon-light. Never was such
wringing of hands and such overflowing of eyes,
since the days of St. Niobe,1 of whom Prior Aymer
told us. A water-fiend hath possessed the fair
Saxon.”
“A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of
the Jewess,” replied the Templar; “for, I think no
aBecause Niobe boasted of her children, they we^e killed
and she was turned by Zeus to a rock which continued to
weep. She stands as the impersonation of grief.
IVANHOE
317
single one, not even Apollyon1 himself, could have
inspired such indomitable pride and resolution. — But
where is Front-de-Bceuf ? That horn is sounded more
and more clamorously.”
“He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” re¬
plied De Bracy, coolly; “probably the howls of Isaac
have drowned the blast of the bugle. Thou mayst
!know, by experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew parting
with his treasures on such terms as our friend Front-
de-Boeuf is like to offer, will raise a clamor loud
enough to be heard over twenty horns and trumpets
to boot. But we will make the vassals call him.”
They were soon after joined by Front-de-Bceuf,
who had been disturbed in his tryannic cruelty in
the manner with which the reader is acquainted, and
had only tarried to give some necessary directions.
“Let us see the cause of this cursed clamor,” said
Front-de-Boeuf. — “Here is a letter, and, if I mis¬
take not, it is in Saxon.”
He looked at it, turning it round and round as if
he had had really some hopes of coming at the mean¬
ing by inverting the position of the paper, and then
handed it to De Bracy.
“It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said
I De Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of
the ignorance which characterized the chivalry of the
period. “Our chaplain attempted to teach me to
write,” he said, “but all my letters were formed
like spear-heads, or sword-blades, and so the old
shaveling2 gave up the task.”
“Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that
of the priestly character, that we have some knowl¬
edge to enlighten our valor.”
Angel of the bottomless pit. Revelations IX, 11. C&e
of Satan’s angels in Pilgrim’s Progress.
2Monk. His head was shaved.
318
IVANHOE
“Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge,
then,” said De Bracy; “what says the scroll?”
“It is a formal letter of defiance.” answered the
Templar; “but, by our Lady of Bethlehem,1 if it be
not a foolish jest, it is the most extraordinary cartel
that ever was sent across the drawbridge of a baronial
castle.”
“Jest!” said Front-de-Bceuf, “I would gladly
know who dares jest with me in such a matter! —
Read it, Sir Brian.”
The Templar accordingly read it as follows: —
“I, Wamba, the son of Witless, Jester to a noble
and freeborn man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the
Saxon, — And I„ Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the
swineherd — ”
“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupt¬
ing the reader.
“By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the
Templar. Then resuming his task, he went on, —
“I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the
said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and
confederates, who make common cause with us in
this our feud, namely, the good knight, called for
the present Le Noir Faineant, and the stout yeo¬
man, Robert Locksley, called Cleave-the-wand, Do
you, Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, and your allies and
accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you
have, without cause given or feud declared, wrong¬
fully and by mastery seized upon the person of our
lord and master the said Cedric; also upon the per¬
son of a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady Row-
ena of Hargottstandstede ; also upon the person of a
noble and freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ;
ajso upon the persons of certain freeborn men, their
cnichts ; also upon certain serfs, their born bonds-
’The Virgin Mary.
IVANHOE
319
men; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York,
together with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain
horses and mules : Which noble persons,, with their
cnichts and slaves, and also with the horses and
mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all in peace
with his majesty, and traveling as liege subjects upon
the king’s highway; therefore we require and de¬
mand that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of
Rotherwood, Rowena of Hargottstandstede, !Athel-
stane of Coningsburgh, with their servants, cnichts
and followers, also the horses and mules, Jew and
Jewess aforesaid, together with all goods and chattels
to them pertaining, be, within an hour after the deliv¬
ery hereof, delivered to us, or to those whom we shall
appoint to receive the same, and that untouched and
unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we
do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbers and
traitors, and will wager our bodies against ye in
battle, seige, or otherwise, and do our utmost to your
annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may God
have you in his keeping. — Signed by us upon the
eve of St. Withold’s day, under the great trysting
oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above being written
by a holy man, Clerk to God, our Lady,, and St.
Dunstan, in the Chapel of Copmanhurst.’
At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in
the first place, a rude sketch of a cock s head and
comb, with a legend expressing this heiroglyphic to
the sign-manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Un¬
der this respectable emblem stood a cross, stated to
be the mark of Gurth, the son of Beowulph. Then
was written, in rough bold characters, the words,
Le Noir Faineant . And, to conclude the whole, an
arrow neatly enough drawn, was described as the
mark of the yeoman Locksley.
Question : Was this letter intended to be humorous?
320
Ivan hoe
The knights heard this uncommon document read
from end to end, and then gazed upon each other
in silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss to
know what it could portend. De Bracy was the first
to break silence by an uncontrollable fit of laughter,
wherein he was joined, though with more modera¬
tion, by the Templar. Front-de-Bceuf, on the con¬
trary, seemed impatient of their ill-timed jocularity.
“I give you plain warning,” he said, “fair sirs,
that you had better consult how to bear yourselves
under these circumstances, than give way to such
misplaced merriment.”
“Front-de-Bceuf has not recovered his temper
since his late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Tem¬
plar; “he is cowed at the very idea of a cartel,
though it come but from a fool and a swineherd.”
“By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “I
would thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this ad¬
venture thyself, De Bracy. These fellows dared not
have acted with such inconceivable impudence, had
they not been supported by some strong bands. There
are enough of outlaws in this forest to resent my pro¬
tecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who was
taken red-handed and in the act, to the horns of a
wild stag, which gored him to death in five minutes,
and I had as many arrows shot at me as there were
launched against yonder target at Ashby. — Here,
fellow,” he added, to one of his attendants, “hast
thou sent out to see by what force this precious
challenge is to be supported?”
“There are at least two hundred men assembled
in the woods,” answered a squire who was in attend¬
ance.
“Here is a proper matter!”1 said Front-de-Boeuf;
“this comes of lending you the use of my castle,
fine state of affairs.
IVANHOE
321
iiat cannot manage your undertaking quietly, but
|ou must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!”
‘‘Of hornets!” said De Bracy; “of stingless
rones rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to
le wood, and destroy the venison rather than labor
br their maintenance.”
“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Bceuf ; “fork-headed
hafts of a clothyard in length, and these shot with-
n the breadth of a French crown1 are sting enough.”
“For shame,, Sir Knight!” said the Templar.
Let us summon our people, and sally forth upon
hem. One knight — ay, one man-at-arms, were
nough for twenty such peasants.”
“Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “I should
mly be ashamed to couch lance against them.”
“True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “were they
>lack Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven
peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy ; but these
ire English yeomen, over whom we shall have no
idvantage, save what we may derive from our arms
md horses, which will avail us little in the glades of
!;he forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men
mough to defend the castle. The best of mine are
at York; so is all your band, De Bracy; and we
lave scarcely twenty, besides the handful that were
engaged in this mad business.”
“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that
they can assemble in force sufficient to attempt the
castle ? ”
“Not so, Sir Brian,” answered. Front-de-Boeuf.
“These outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but
^without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced
| leaders, my castle may defy them.”
“Send to thy neighbors,” said the Templar; “let
them assemble their people, and come to the rescue
small gold coin.
322
IVANHOE
of three knights, besieged by a jester and a swine¬
herd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-
Bceuf !”
“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron;
“but to whom should I send? — Malvoisin is by this
time at York with his retainers, and so are my other
allies; and so should I have been, but for this infer¬
nal enterprise.”
“Then send to York, and recall our people,” said
De Bracy. “If they abide the shaking of my stand¬
ard, or the sight of my Free Companions, I will give
them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in
greenwood.”
“And who shall bear such a message?” said
Front-de-Boeuf; “they will beset every path, and rip
the errand out of his bosom. — I have it,” he added,
after pausing for a moment — “Sir Templar, thou
canst write as well as read, and if we can but find
the writing materials of my chaplain, who died a
twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas
carousals — ”
“So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in
attendance, “I think old Urfried has them some¬
where in keeping, for love of the confessor. He was
the last man, I have heard tell, who ever said
aught to her, which man ought in courtesy to address
to maid or matron.”
“Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-
Boeuf; “and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return
an answer to this bold challenge.”
“I would rather do it at the sword’s point than
at that of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert ; “but be it
as you will.”
He sat down accordingly, and indited in the
French language, an epistle of the following tenor: —
“Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and
knightly allies and confederates, receives no defi-
Ivan hoe
323
,nces at the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives,
f the person calling himself the Black Knight have
ndeed a claim to the honors of chivalry, he ought to
.now that he stands degraded by his present associa-
ion, and has no right to ask reckoning at the hands
if good men of noble blood. Touching the prison-
rs we have made, we do in Christian charity require
rou to send a man of religion, to receive their con¬
fession, and reconcile them with God; since it is
iur fixed intention to execute them this morning
iefore noon, so that their heads being placed on the
mttlements, shall show to all men how lightly we
isteem those who have bestirred themselves in their
•escue. Wherefore, as above, we require you to send
i priest to reconcile them to God, in doing which you
;hall render them the last earthly service/’
This letter being folded, was delivered to the
squire, and by him to the messenger who waited
vithout, as the answer to that which he had
>rought.
The yeoman having thus accomplished his mission,
’eturned to the headquarters of the allies, which
vere for the present established under a venerable
>ak tree, about three arrow-flights distant from the
iastle. Here Wamba and Gurth, with their allies
she Black Kriight and Locksley,, and the jovial her-
snit, awaited with impatience an answer to their
summons. Around, and at a distance from them,
vere seen many a bold yeoman, whose silvan dress and
weatherbeaten countenances showed the ordinary
nature of their occupation. More than two hundred
had already assembled, and others were fast coming
in. Those whom they obeyed as leaders were only
distinguished from the others by a feather in the
cap, their dress, arms, and equipments being in all
other respects the same.
Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse
324
Ivan hoe
armed force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of
the neighboring township, as well as many bonds¬
men and servants from Cedric’s extensive estate, had
already arrived, for the purpose of assisting in his
rescue. Few of these were armed otherwise than
with such rustic weapons as necessity sometimes con¬
verts to military purposes. Boar-spears, scythes,
flails, and the like, were their chief arms; for the
Normans, with the usual policy of conquerors, were
jealous of permitting to the vanquished Saxons the
possession or the use of swords and spears. These
circumstances rendered the assistance of the Saxons
far from being so formidable to the besieged, as the
strength of the men themselves, their superior num¬
bers, and the animation inspired by a just cause,
might otherwise well have made them. It was to
the leaders of this motley army that the letter of
the Templar was now delivered.
Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an
exposition of its contents.
“By the crook of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy
ecclesiastic, “which hath brought more sheep within
the sheepfold than the crook of e’er another saint in
Paradise, I swear that I cannot expound unto you
this jargon, which, whether it be French or Arabic,
is beyond my guess.”
He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his
head gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester
looked at each of the four corners of the paper with
such a grin of affected intelligence as a monkey is
apt to assume upon similar occasions, then cut a
caper, and gave the letter to Locksley.
“If the long letters were bows, and the short
letters broad arrows, I might know something of the
matter,” said the brave yeoman; “but as the matter
stands, the meaning is as safe, for me, as the stag
that’s at twelve miles distant.”
IVANHOE
325
‘‘I must be clerk, then,” said the Black Knight ,
ind taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it
!>ver to himself, and then explained the meaning in
$axon to his confederates.
“Execute the noble Cedric!” exclaimed Wamba;
‘by the rood, thou must be mistaken, Sir Knight."
‘‘Not I. my worthy friend,” replied the knight;
j“I have explained the words as they are here set
down.” „ .. ,
“Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury, replied
Gurth, “we will have the castle, should we tear it
down with our hands!”
“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied
! Wamba; “but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks
of freestone and mortar.”
“ Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said
Locksley; “they dare not do a deed for which I
could exact a fearful penalty.”
“I would,” said the Black Knight, “there were
some one among us who could obtain admission into
the castle, and discover how the case stands with the
besieged. Methinks, as they require a confessor to
be sent, this holy hermit might at once exercise his
pious vocation, and procure us the information we
desire.”
“A plague on thee, and thy advice ! said the
pious hermit; “I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that
when I doff my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my
sancity, my very Latin, are put off along with it;
and when in my green jerkin, 1 can better kill twenty
deer than confess one Christian.”
i “i fear,” said the Black Knight, “I fear greatly,
there is no one here that is qualified to take upon
him, for the nonce,1 this same character of father
confessor?”
*For the time being.
326
Ivan hoe
All looked on each other, and were silent.
“I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, ‘‘that
the fool must be still the fool, and put his neck in
the venture which wise men shrink from. You must
know, my dear cousins and countrymen, that I wore
russet before I wore motley, and was bred to be a
friar, until a brain-fever came upon me and left
me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, with the
assistance of the good hermit’s frock, together with
the priesthood, sanctity, and learning which are
stitched into the co\vl of it, I shall be found quali¬
fied to administer both worldly and ghostly comfort
to our worthy master Cedric, and his companions in
adversity.”
‘‘Hath he sense enough, thinkest thou?” said the
Black Knight, addressing Gurth.
‘‘I know not,” said Gurth; “but if he hath not,
it will be the first time he hath wanted wit to turn
his folly to account.”
“On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the
Knight, “and let thy master send us an account of
their situation within the castle. Their numbers
must be few, and it is five to one they may be acces¬
sible by a sudden and bold attack. Time wears —
away with thee.”
“And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “we will
beset the place so closely, that not so much as a ny
shall carry news from thence. So that, my good
friend,” he continued, addressing Wamba, “thou
mayst assure these tyrants, that whatever violence
they exercise on the persons of their prisoners, shall
be most severely repaid upon their own.”
“ Pax vobiscum,”1 said Wamba, who was now
muffled in his religious disguise.
xPeace be with you.
Ivan hoe
327
And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately
deportment of a friar, and departed to execute his
mission.
CHAPTER XXVI
The hottest horse will oft be cool.
The dullest will show fire ;
The friar will often play the fool,
The fool will play the friar.
Old Sonp.
When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock
of the hermit, and having his knotted cord twisted
round his middle, stood before the portal of the
castle of Front-de-Bceuf, the warder demanded of
him his name and errand.
“Pax vobiscum,” answered the Jester, “I am. a
poor brother of the order of St. Francis,1 who come
hither to do my office to certain unhappy prisoners
now secured within this castle/’
“Thou are a bold friar,” said the warder,, “to
come hither, where, saving our own drunken con¬
fessor, a cock of thy feather hath not crowed these
twenty years.”
“Yet, I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of
the castle,” answered the pretended friar; “trust me,
it will find good acceptance with him, and the cock
shall crow, that the whole castle shall hear him.”
“Gramercy,” said the warder; “but if I come to
shame for leaving my post upon thine errand, I will
try whether a friar’s gray gown be proof against
a gray-goose shaft.”
With this threat he left his turret, and carried to
the hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that
a holy friar stood before the gate and demanded in¬
stant admission. With no small wonder he received
his master’s commands to admit the holy man im¬
mediately; and, having previously manned the en¬
trance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, without
Franciscans or Grey Friars.
IVANHOE
329
further scruple, the commands which he had received.
The hare-brained self-conceit which had emboldened
; Wamba to undertake this dangerous office, was scarce
f sufficient to support him when he found himself in
the presence of a man so dreadful, and so much
dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, and he brought
out his pax vobiscum, to which he, in a good measure,
trusted for supporting his character, with more
anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accom¬
panied it. But Front-de-Bceuf was accustomed to
see men of all ranks tremble in his presence, so that
the timidity of the supposed father did not give him
any cause of suspicion. “Who and whence art thou,
priest ?” said he.
“Pax vobiscum,” reiterated the Jester, “I am a
poor servant of St. Francis, who, traveling through
this wilderness, have fallen among thieves, as Scrip¬
ture hath it, quidarn viator1 incidit in latrones, which
thieves have sent me unto this castle in order to do
my ghostly office on two persons condemned by your
honorable justice.”
“Ay, right/’ answered Front-de-Bceuf; “and canst
thou tell me, holy father, the number of those ban¬
ditti?”
“Gallant sir,” answered the Jester, “nomen illis
legio / their name is legion.”
“Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are,
or, priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.’’
“Alas!” said the supposed friar, “cor meum 2
eructavit, that is to say, I was like to burst with
fear ! but I conceive they may be— what of yeomen—
what of commons, at least five hundred men.”
“What!” said the Templar, who came into the
'Luke X, 30.
‘Mark V, 9.
* ‘My heart is inditing a good matter,” Psalms XLV, 1.
330
Ivan hoe
hall that moment, “muster the wasps so thick here?
It is time to stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then
taking ^ront-de-Boeuf aside, “Knowest thou the
priest?”
“He is a stranger from a distant convent,” said
Front-de-Bceuf ; “I know him not.”
“Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,”
answered the Templar. “Let him carry a written
order to De Bracy’s company of Free Companions,
to repair instantly to their master’s aid. In the
meantime, and that the shaveling may suspect noth¬
ing, permit him to go freely about his task of pre¬
paring these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.”
“It shall be so,” said Front-de-Boeuf. And he
forthwith appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba
to the apartment where Cedric and Athelstane were
confined.
The impatience of Cedric had been rather en¬
hanced than diminished by his confinement. He
walked from one end of the hall to the other, with the
attitude of one who advances to charge an enemy, or
to storm the breach of a beleaguered place, some¬
times ejaculating to himself, sometimes addressing
Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically awaited the
issue of the adventure, digesting, in the meantime,
with great composure, the liberal meal which he had
made at noon, and not greatly interesting himself
about the duration of his captivity, which, he con¬
cluded, would, like all earthly evils, find an end in
Heaven’s good time.
“Pax v obis cum,” said the Jester, entering the
apartment; “the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Dennis,
St. Duthoc and all other saints whatsoever, be upon
ye and about ye.”
“Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed
friar; “with what intent art thou come hither 7"
IVANHOE
331
“To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” an¬
swered the Jester.
“It is impossible!” replied Cedric, starting.
“Fearless and wicked as they are, they dare not
attempt such open and gratuitous cruelty!”
“Alas!” said the Jester, “to restrain them by
their sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runa¬
way horse with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink
thee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you also, gallant
Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in the
flesh; for this very day will ye be called to answer at
a higher tribunal.”
“Hearest thou this, Athelstane?” said Cedric;
“we must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since
better it is we should die like men, than live like
slaves.”
“I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “to stand the
worst of their malice, and shall walk to my death
with as much composure as ever I did to my
dinner.”
“Let us then unto our holy gear,1 father,” said
Cedric.
“Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester,
in his natural tone; “better look long before you
leap in the dark.”
“By my faith,” said Cedric, “I should know that
voice!”
“It is that of your trusty slave and jester,” an¬
swered Wamba, throwing back his cowl. Had you
taken a fool’s advice formerly, you would not have
been here at all. Take a fool’s advice now, and you
will not be here long.”
“How mean’st thou, knave?” answered the Saxon.
“Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this
frock and cord, which are all the orders I ever had,
^oly Business.
382
Ivan hoe
and march quickly out of the castle, leaving me your
cloak and girdle to take the long leap in thy stead.”
“Leave thee in my stead!” said Cedric, aston¬
ished at the proposal; “why, they would hang thee,
my poor knave.”
“E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said
Wamba; “I trust — no disparagement to your birth
— that the son of Witless may hang in a chain with as
much gravity as the chain1 hung upon his ancestor
the alderman.”
“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing
will I grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt
make the exchange of garments with Lord Athel¬
stane instead of me.”
“No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there
were little reason in that. Good right there is, that
the son of Witless should suffer to save the son of
Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying
for the benefit of one whose fathers were strangers
to his.”
“Villain,” said Cedrick, “the fathers of Athelstane
were monarchs of England!”
“They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied
Wamba; “but my neck stands too straight upon my
shoulders to have it twisted for their sake. Where¬
fore, good my master, either take my proffer your¬
self, or suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as I
entered.”
“Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “so
the stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save
the noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is the
duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou
and I will abide together the utmost rage of our
injurious oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall
‘Symbol or official badge of an alderman.
Ivan hoe
333
arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to
avenge us/’
“Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping
his hand, — for, when roused to think or act, his deeds
and sentiments were not unbecoming his high race.
—“Not so,” he continued, “I would rather remain
in this hall a week without food save the prisoner’s
[ stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner’s measure of
; water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which
the slave’s untaught kindness has purveyed for his
master.”
“You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester,
“and I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousin
Athelstane, the fool shall decide this controversy for
ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesies any
farther I am like John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let
no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save
my master, and if he will not consent— basta— I can
but go away home again. Kind service cannot be
chucked from hand to hand like a shuttle-cock or
stool-ball. I’ll hang for no man but my own born
master.” , , , „
“Go then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, neg¬
lect not this opportunity. Your presence without
may encourage friends to our rescue— your remain-
ing here will ruin us all.”
“And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from
without?” said Cedric, looking to the Jester.
“Prospect, indeed!” echoed Wamba; “let me tell
you, when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a
general’s cossack. Five hundred men are there
without, and I was this morning one of their chief
leaders My fool’s cap was a casque, and my bauble
a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they will
make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly,
I fear they will lose in valor what they may gam m
discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind to
334
Ivan hoe
poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my cockscomb
hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I
flung away my life for my master, like a faithful —
fool.”
The last word came out with a sort of double ex¬
pression, betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood
in Cedric’s eyes.
“Thy memory shall be preserved,” he said, “while
fidelity and affection have honor upon earth! But
that I trust I shall find the means of saving Rowena,
and 4hee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamba,
thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter.”
The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when
a sudden doubt struck Cedric.
“I know no language,” he said, “but my own,
and a few words of their mincing Norman. How
shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?”
“The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba —
“Pax vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go
or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, Pax vobiscum
carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar
as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer.
Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone, — Pax vo¬
biscum!— it is irresistible. Watch and ward, knight
and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon
them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged
to-morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will
try its weight upon the finisher of the sentence.”
“If such prove the case,” said his master, “my
religious orders are soon taken — Pax vobiscum. I
trust I shall remember the password. — Noble Athel¬
stane, farewell ; and farewell, my poor boy, whose
heart might make amends for a weaker head — I will
save you, or return and die with you. The royal
blood of our Saxon' kings shall not be spilt while
mine beats in my veins; nor shall one hair fall from
the head of the kind knave who risked himself for his
IVANHOE
335
master, if Cedric’s peril can prevent it. — Farewell.”
“Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane,” “re¬
member it is the true part of a friar to accept refresh¬
ment, if you are offered any.”
“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remem¬
ber Pax vobiscum.”
Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his ex¬
pedition; and it was not long ere he had occasion to
try the force of that spell which his Jester had recom¬
mended as omnipotent. In a low-arched and dusky
passage, by which he endeavored to work his way to
the hall of the castle, he was interrupted by a female
form.
<(Pax vobiscum!” said the pseudo friar, and was
endeavoring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied,
“Et v obisx . quaesof domine reverendissime, pro
misericordia vestra.”
“I am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good
Saxon, and at the same time muttered to himself, “A
curse on the fool and his Pax vobiscuml I have lost
my javelin at the first cast.”
It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of
those days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the
person who now addressed Cedric knew full well.
“I pray you, of dear love, reverend father,” she
replied in his own language, “that you will deign
to visit with your ghostly comfort a wounded pris¬
oner of this castle; and have such compassion upon
him and us as thy holy office teaches. Never shall
good deed so highly advantage thy convent.
“Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed,
“my time in this castle will not permit me to exercise
the duties of mine office— I must presently forth—
there is life and death upon my speed.”
“Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you
And with you — I beg, most reverend master, your pity.
386
Ivan hoe
have taken on you,” replied the suppliant, ‘‘not to
leave the oppressed and endangered without counsel
or succor.”
“May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in
Ifrin with the souls of Odin and Thor!” answered
Cedric, impatiently, and would probably have pro¬
ceeded in the same tone of total departure from his
spiritual character, when the colloquy was interrupted
by the harsh voice of Urfried, the old crone of the
turret.
“How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “is
this the manner in which you requite the kindness
which permitted thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder?
— Puttest thou the reverend man to use ungracious
language to free himself from the importunities of a
Jewess?”
“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the
information to get clear of their interruption, — “Let
me pass, woman! stop me not at your peril. I am
fresh from my holy office, and would avoid pollu¬
tion.”
“Come this way, father,” said the old hag; “thou
art a stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it
without a guide. Come hither, for I would speak
with thee. — And you, daughter of .an accursed race,
go to the sick man’s chamber, and tend him until my
return; and woe betide you if you again quit it with¬
out my permission!”
Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had pre¬
vailed upon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret,
and Urfried had employed her services where she
herself would most gladly have paid them, by the bed¬
side of the wounded Ivanhoe. With an understand¬
ing awake to their dangerous situation, and prompt
to avail herself of each means of safety which oc-
*Two deities of Norse mythology. Ifrin meant hell.
IVANHOE
337
urred, Rebecca had hoped something from the pres-
nce of a man of religion, who, she learned from
Jrfried, had penetrated into this godless castle. She
matched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic, with
he purpose of addressing him, and interesting him
n favor of the prisoners, with what imperfect suc-
ess the reader has been just acquainted.
CHAPTER XXVII
Fond wretch ! and what canst thou relate.
But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin?
Thy deeds are proved — thou know’st thy fate ;
But come, thy tale — begin — begin.
******
But I have griefs of other kind,
Troubles and sorrows more severe;
Give me to ease my tortured mind,
Lend to my woes a patient ear ;
And let me, if I may not find
A friend to help — find one to hear.
Orabbe’s Ball of Justice.
When Urfried had with clamors and menaces driv¬
en Rebecca back to the apartment from which she
had sallied, she proceeded to conduct the unwilling
Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she
heedfully secured. Then fetching from a cupboard a
stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed them on the
table, and said in a tone rather asserting a fact than
asking a question, “Thou art Saxon, father. — Deny it
not,” she continued, observing that Cedric hastened
not to reply; “the sounds of my native language are
sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard, save from
the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on
whom the proud Normans impose the meanest drudg¬
ery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, father — a
Saxon, and, save as thou are a servant of God, a free¬
man. — Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.”
“Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?” re¬
plied Cedric; “it were, methinks, their duty to com¬
fort the outcast and oppressed children of the soil.”
“They come not, or if they come, they better love
to revel at the boards of their conquerors,” answered
Urfried, “than to hear the groans of their country¬
men — so, at least, report speaks of them — of myself
IVANHOE
339
[ can say little. This castle, for ten years, has opened
bo no priest save the debauched Norman chaplain who
partook the nightly revels of Front-de-Boeuf, and he
has been long gone to render an account of his stew¬
ardship —But thou art a Saxon— a Saxon priest, and
I have one question to ask of thee.”
“I am a Saxon,” answered Cedric, “but unworthy,
surely* of the name of priest. Let me begone on my
way. — i swear I will return, or send one of our fath¬
ers more worthy to hear your confession.”
“Stay yet a while,” said Urfried; “the accents of
the voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked
with the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like
the beast I have lived. But wine must give me
strength to tell the horrors of my tale.” She poured
out a cup, and drank it with a frightful avidity,
which seemed desirous of draining the last drop in
the goblet. “It stupefies,” she said, looking upwards
as she finished her draught, “but it cannot cheer.—
Partake it, father, if you would hear my tale without
sinking down upon the pavement.” Cedric would
have avoided pledging her in this ominous convivial¬
ity, but the sign which she made to him expressed im¬
patience and despair. He complied with her request,
and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup , she
ithen proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his
complaisance. , , , ,
<(I Was not born,” she said, “father, the wretch that
thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was hon¬
ored loved, and was beloved. I am now a slave, mis¬
erable and degraded— the sport of my masters' pas¬
sions while I had yet beauty— the object of their con¬
tempt, scorn, and hatred, since it has passed away.
Dost thou wonder, father, that I should hate mankind,
and, above all, the race that has wrought this change
in me? Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee,
whose wTrath must vent itself in impotent curses, for-
340
IVANHOE
get she was once the daughter of the noble Thane of
Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals
trembled?”
“Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!” said
Cedric, receding as he spoke ; “thou — thou — the
daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friend and
companion in arms!”
“Thy father’s friend!” echoed Urfried; “then
Cedric called the Saxon stands before me, for the
noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son,
whose name is well known among his countrymen.
But if thou are Cedric of Rotherwood, why this relig¬
ious dress? — Hast thou too despaired of saving thy
country, and sought refuge from oppression in the
shade of the convent?”
“It matters not who I am,” said Cedric; “proceed,
uphappy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt! —
Guilt there must be — there is guilt even in thy liv¬
ing to tell it.”
“There is — there is,” answered the wretched woman,
deep, black, damning guilt, — guilt that lies like a load
at my breast— guilt that all the penitential fires of
hereafter cannot cleanse. — Yes, in these halls, stained
with the noble and pure blood of my father and my
brethren — in these very halls, to have lived the para¬
mour of their murderer, the slave at once and the
partaker of his pleasures, was to render every breath
which I drew of vital air, a crime and a curse.”
“Wretched woman!” exclaimed Cedric. “And while
the friends of thy father — while each true Saxon heart,
as it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of
his valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the mur¬
dered Ulrica — while all mourned and honored the
dead, thou hast lived to merit our hate and execra¬
tion-lived to unite thyself with the vile tyrant who
murdered thy nearest and dearest— who shed the
blood of infancy, rather than a male of the noble
IVANHOE
341
house of Torquil Wolf ganger should survive — with
him hast thou lived to unite thyself, and in the bands
of lawless love!”
“In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love!”
answered the hag; “love will sooner visit the regions
of eternal doom, than those unhallowed vaults. No,
with that at least I cannot reproach myself. — Hatred
to Front-de-Bceuf and his race governed my soul most
deeply, even in the hour of his guilty endearments.”
“You hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric;
“wretch! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin!
Well was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an
existence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are
Hike those of the grave. For had I but dreamed of
the daughter of Torquil living in foul communion
iwith the murderer of her father, the sword of a true
Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy
paramour!”
“Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the
name of Torquil?” said Ulrica, for we may now lay
aside her assumed name of Urfried; “thou art then
the true Saxon report speaks thee! for even within
these accursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt
shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery, even there has
the name of Cedric been sounded — and I, wretched
and degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet
breathed an avenger of our unhappy nation.— I also
have had my hours of vengeance — I have fomented
the quarrels of our foes, and heated drunken revelry
into murderous broil — I have seen their blood flow
I have heard their dying groans ! — Look on me, Cedric
I —are there not still left on this foul and faded face
j some traces of the features of Torquil?
“Ask me not of them, Ulrica,” replied Cedric, in
a tone of grief mixed with abhorrence ; “these traces
form such a resemblance as arises from the grave of
342
IVANHOE
the dead, when a fiend has animated the lifeless
corpse.”
“Be it so,” answered Ulrica; “yet wore these fiend¬
ish features the mask of a spirit of light when they
were able to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf
and his son Reginald! The darkness of hell should
hide what followed, but revenge must lift the veil,
and darkly intimate what it would raise the dead to
speak aloud. Long had the smoldering fire of dis¬
cord glowed between the tyrant father and his sav¬
age son — long had I nursed, in secret, the unnatural
hatred. It blazed forth in an hour of drunken was¬
sail, and at his own board fell my oppressor by the
hand of his own son. Such are the secrets these
vaults conceal! — Rend asunder, ye accursed arches,”
she added, looking up towards the roof, “and bury in
your fall all who are conscious of the hideous mys¬
tery!”
“And thou, creature of guilt and misery,” said
Cedric, “what became thy lot on the death of thy
ravisher?”
“Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till
age, premature age, has stamped its ghastly features
on my countenance — scorned and insulted where I
was once obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge
which had once such ample scope, to the efforts of
petty malice of a discontented menial, or the vain or
unheeded curses of an impotent hag— condemned to
hear from my lonely turret the sounds of revelry in
which I once partook, or the shrieks and groans of
new victims of oppression.”
Ulrica,” said Cedric, “with a heart which still,
I fear, regrets the lost reward of thy crimes; as
much as the deeds by which thou didst acquire that
meed, how didst thou dare to address thee to one
who wears this robe? Consider, unhappy woman,
what could the sainted Edward himself do for thee,
IVANHOE
343
were he here in bodily presence? The royal Confes¬
sor was endowed by Heaven with power to cleanse
the ulcers of the body, but only God himself can cure
the leprosy of the soul.”
•‘Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,”
she exclaimed, “but tell me, if thou canst, in what
shall terminate these new and awful feelings th»*
burst on my solitude— Why do deeds, long since done
rise before me in new and irresistible horrors? What
fate is prepared beyond the grave for her, to whom
God has assigned on earth a lot of such unspeakable
wretchedness? Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha,
and Zernebock— to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of
our yet unbaptized ancestors, than endure the dread¬
ful anticipations which have of late haunted my wak¬
ing and my sleeping hours!”
“I am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with dis¬
gust from this miserable picture of guilt, wretched¬
ness, and despair; “I am no priest, though I wear a
priest’s garment.”
“Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “thou art the
first I have seen for twenty years, by whom God was
reared or man regarded ; and dost thou bid me de¬
spair?”
“I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “Seek to prayer
and penance, and mayest thou find acceptance ! But
I cannot, I will not, longer abide with thee.”
“Stay yet a moment!” said Ulrica; “leave me not
now, son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who
has governed my life should tempt me to avenge my¬
self of thy hard-hearted scorn. Thinkest thou, if
Front-de-Boeuf found Cedric the Saxon in his castle,
in such a disguise, that thy life would be a long one?
_ Already his eye has been upon thee like a falcon on
his prey ”
“And 'be it so,” said Cedric; “and let him tear me
with beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word
344
Ivan hoe
which my heart doth not warrant. I will die a Sax¬
on — true in word, open in deed. — I bid thee avaunt!
— touch me not, stay me not! The sight of Font-de-
Boeuf himself is less odious to me than thou, degraded
and degenerate as thou art.”
“Be it so,” said Ulrica, no longer interrupting
him, “go thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy
superiority, that the wretch before thee is the daugh¬
ter of thy father’s friend — Go thy way — If I am
separated from mankind by my sufferings — separated
from those whose aid I might most justly expect —
not less will I be separated from them in my re¬
venge! — No man shall aid me, but the ears of all
men shall tingle to hear of the deed which I shall
dare to do! — Farewell! — thy scorn has burst the
last tie which seemed yet to unite me to mankind — a
thought that my woes might claim the compassion of
my people.”
“Ulrica,” said Cedric, softened by this appeal,
“hast thou borne up and endured to live through
so much guilt and so much misery, and wilt thou
now yield to despair when thine eyes are opened to
thy crimes, and when repentance were thy fitter
occupation?”
“Cedric,” answered Ulrica, “thou little knowest the
human heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I
have thought, requires the maddening love of pleasure,
mingled with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud
consciousness of power; draughts too intoxicating
for the human heart to bear, and yet retain the power
to prevent. Their force has long passed away. Age
has no pleasures, wrinkles have no influence, re¬
venge itself dies away in impotent curses. Then
comes remorse, with all its vipers, mixed with vain
regrets for the past, and despair for the future!—
Then, when all other strong impulses have ceased, we
become like the fiends in hell, who may feel remorse,
IVANHOE
345
but never repentance. — But thy words have awakened
a new soul within me. Well hast thou said, all is
possible for those who dare to die ! — Thou hast shown
me the means of revenge, and be assured I will em¬
brace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosom
with other and with rival passions — henceforward
! it shall possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt say,
that, whatever was the life of Ulrica, her death well
became the daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a
force without beleaguering this accursed castle. Has¬
ten to lead them to the attack, and when thou shalt
see a red flag wave from the turret on the eastern
angle of the donjon, press the Normans hard — they
I will then have enough to do within, and you may win
the wall in spite both of bow and mangonel. — Begone,
: I pray thee — follow thine own fate, and leave me to
mine.”
Cedric would have inquired farther into the pur¬
pose which she thus darkly announced, but the stern
voice of Front-de-Bceuf was heard, exclaiming,
“Where tarries this loitering priest? By the scallop-
shell of Compostella, I will make a martyr of him,
if he loiters here to hatch treason among my domes¬
tics!”
“What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, “is an evil
conscience! But heed him not — out and to thy peop-
ple. Cry your Saxon onslaught, and let them sing
j their war-song of Rollo2, if they will; vengeance shall
bear a burden to it.”
As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private
j door, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apart¬
ment. Cedric, with some difficulty, compelled him-
! self to make obeisence to the haughty Baron, who
| 3In Spain, the site of a shrine of St. James which was
i visited by pilgrims.
2A Norse viking, founder of the Norman settlement.
346
IVANHOE
returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the
head.
“Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift —
it is the better for them, since it is the last they shall
ever make. Hast thou prepared them for death ?”
“I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he
could command, “expecting the worst, from the moment
they knew into whose power they had fallen.”
“How now, Sir Friar,” replied Front-de-Bceuf, “thy
speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue?”
“I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Bur¬
ton,” answered Cedric.
“Ay?” said the Baron; “it had been better for thee
to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose
too; but need has no choice of messengers. That St.
Withold’s of Burton is a howlet’s nest worth the harry¬
ing. The day will soon come that the frock shall pro¬
tect the Saxon as little as the mail coat.”
“God’s will be done,” said Cedric, in a voice tremu¬
lous with passion, which Front-de-Bceuf imputed to
fear.
“I see,” said he, “thou dreamest already that our
men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults.
But do me one cast of thy holy office, and, come what
list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a
snail within his shell of proof.”
“Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with sup¬
pressed emotion.
“Follow me through this passage, then, that I may
dismiss thee by the postern.”
And as he strode on his way before the supposed
friar, Front-de-Bceuf thus schooled him in the part
which he desired he should act.
“Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine,
who have dared to environ this castle of Torquil-
stone. Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of the
weakness of this fortalice, or aught else that can de-
Ivan hoe
347
tain them before it for twenty-four hours. Mean¬
time bear thou this scroll — But soft — canst read, Sir
Priest?”
“Not a jot I,” answered Cedric, “save on my breviary
and then I know the characters, because I have the
holy service by heart, praise be Our Lady and St.
Withold!”
“The fitter messenger for my purpose. — Carry thou
this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it
cometh from me, and is written by the Templar Brian
de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to
York with all the speed man and horse can make.
Meanwhile, tell him to doubt nothing, he shall find us
whole and sound behind our battlement. Shame on it,
that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack
of runagates, who are wont to fly even at the flash
of our pennons and the tramp of our horses ! I say to
thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine art to keep
the knaves where they are, until our friends bring
up their lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is a
falcon that slumbers not till she has been gorged. ’
“By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper
energy than became his character, “and by every
saint who has lived and died in England, your com¬
mands shall be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from
before these walls, if I have art and influence to de¬
tain them there.” , , .,
“Ha’” said Front-de-Boeuf, “thou changest thy
tone Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if
thy heart were in the slaughter of the Saxon herd ;
and yet thou art thyself of kindred to the swine .
Cedric was no ready practicer of the art of dissim¬
ulation, and would at this moment have been much
the better of a hint from Wamba’s more fertile brain.
But necessity, according to the ancient proverb,
sharpens invention, and he muttered something under
his cowl concerning the men in question being ex-
348
Ivan hoe
communicated outlaws both to church and to king¬
dom.
“Despardieux,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “thou
hast spoken the very truth — I forgot that the knaves
can strip a fat abbot, as well as if they had been
born south of yonder salt channel. Was it not he of
St. Ives whom they tied to an oak-tree and compelled
to sing a mass while they were rifling his mails and
his wallets? — No, by Our Lady! — that jest was played
by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our own companions-
at-arms. But they were Saxons who robbed the
chapel at St. Bees of cup, candlestick, and chalice,
were they not?”
“They were godless men,” answered Cedric.
“Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and
ale that lay in store for many a secret carousal, when
ye pretend ye are but busied with vigils and primes!
— Priest, thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege.”
“I am indeed bound to vengeance,” murmured Ced¬
ric; “Saint Withold knows my heart.”
Front-de-Bceuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to
a postern, where, passing the moat on a single plank,
they reached a small barbican, or exterior defense,
which communicated with the open field by a well-
fortified sallyport.
“Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand,
and if thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt
see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in the sham¬
bles of Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemst to
be a jolly confessor — come hither after the onslaught,
and thou shalt have as much Malvoisie as would drench
thy whole convent.”
“Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric.
“Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Nor¬
man ; and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust
into Cedric's reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding,
Ivan hoe
349
'‘Remember, I will flay off both cowl and skin, if thou
failest in thy purpose.”
“And full leave will I give thee to do both,” an¬
swered Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth
over the free field with a joyful step, “if, when we
meet next, I deserve not better at thine hand.” —
Turning then back towards the castle, he threw the
piece of gold towards the donor, exclaiming at the
same time, “False Norman, thy money perish with
thee!”
Front-de-Bceuf heard the words imperfectly, but
the action was suspicious. “Archers,” he called to the
warders on the outward battlements, “send me an
arrow through yon monk’s frock! Yet stay,” he said,
as his retainers were bending their bows, “it avails
not — we must thus far trust him since we have no
better shift. I think he dares not betray me — at the
worst I can but treat with these Saxon dogs whom I
have safe in kennel. Ho! Giles jailer, let them bring
Cedric of Rotherwood before me, and the other churl,
his companion — him I mean of Coningsburgh — Athel-
stane there, or what call they him? Their very names
are an encumbrance to a Norman knight’s mouth, and
have, as it were, a flavor of bacon. Give me a stoup
of wine, as jolly Prince John said, that I may wash
away the relish — place it in the armory, and thither
lead the prisoners.”
His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering
that Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won
by his own valor and that of his father, he found a
flagon of wine on the massive oaken table, and the
two Saxon captives under the guard of four of his
dependents. Front-de-Boeuf took a long draught of
wine, and then addressed his prisoners ; for the man¬
ner in which Wamba drew the cap over his face, the
change of dress, the gloomy and broken light, and
350
Ivan hoe
the Baron’s imperfect acquaintance with the features
of Cedric, (who avoided his Norman neighbors, and
seldom stirred beyond his own domains), prevented
him from discovering that the most important of his
captives had made his escape.
“Gallants of England,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “how
relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone? — Are
ye yet aware what your surquedy and outrecuidance
merit, for scoffing at the entertainment of a prince
of the House of Anjou?— Have ye forgotten how ye
requited the unmerited hospitality of the royal John?
By God and St. Dennis, an ye pay not the richer ran¬
som, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars
of these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have
made skeletons of you! — Speak out, ye Saxon dogs —
what bid ye for your worthless lives? — How say you,
you of Rotherwood?”
“Not a doit I,” answered poor Wamba — “and for
hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy¬
turvy, they say, ever since the biggin was bound first
round my head ; so turning me upside down may per-
adventure restore it again.”
“St. Genevieve!” said Front-de-Boeuf, “what have
we got here?”
And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s
cap from the head of the Jester, and throwing open
his collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude,
the silver collar round his neck.
“Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets!” exclaimed the
furious Norman, “what have you brought me here?”
“I think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just
entered the apartment. “This is Cedric’s clown, who
fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac of York about
a question of precedence.”
“I shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de-
^‘Insolence and presumption.” (Scoffs note.)
IVANHOE
351
Boeuf; “they shall hang on the same gallows, unless
his master and this boar of Coningsburgh will pay
well for their lives. Their wealth is the least they
can surrender; they must also carry off with them
the swarms that are besetting the castle, subscribe
a surrender of their pretended immunities, and live
under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in the
new world that is about to begin, we leave them the
breath of their nostrils.— Go,” said he to two of his
attendants, “fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I
pardon your error for once; the rather that you but
mistake a fool for a Saxon franklin.”
“Ay, but,” said Wamba, “your chivalrous excellency
will find there are more fools than franklins among
us.”
“What means the knave?” said Front-de-Bceuf,
looking towards his followers, who, lingering and
loath, faltered forth their belief, that if this were
not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew not
what was become of him.
“Saints of Heaven!” exclaimed De Bracy, “he must
have escaped in the monk’s garments !”
“Fiends of hell!” echoed Front-de-Boeuf, “it was
then the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered to the
postern, and dismissed with my own hands!— And
thou,” he said to Wamba, “whose folly could overreach
the wisdom of idiots yet more gross than thyself
I will give thee holy orders— I will shave thy crown
for thee ! — Here, let them tear the scalp from his head,
and then pitch him headlong from the battlements—
Thy trade is to jest, canst thou jest now?”
“You deal with me better than your word, noble
knight,” whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits
of buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the
immediate prospect of death; “if you give me the red
cap you propose, out of a simple monk you will make
a cardinal.”
352
IVANIIOE
“The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “is resolved to
die in his vocation. — Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not
slay him. Give him to me to make sport for my
Free Companions. — How sayest thou, knave? Wilt
thou take heart of grace, and go to the wars with
me?”
“Ay, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; “for
look you, I must not slip collar” (and he touched that
which he wore) “without his permission.”
“Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,”
said De Bracy.
“Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “and thence goes the
proverb —
“ ‘Norman saw on English oak,
On English neck a Norman yoke ;
Norman spoon in English dish,
And England ruled as Normans wish;
Blithe world to England never will be more,
Till England's rid of all the four.’ ”
“Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf,
“to stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when
destruction is gaping for us! Seest thou not we are
overreached, and that our proposed mode of com¬
munication with our friends without has been dis¬
concerted by this same motley gentleman thou art so
fond to brother? What views have we to expect but
instant storm?”
“To the battlements, then,” said De Bracy; “when
didst thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of
battle? Call the Templar yonder, and let him fight
but half so well for his life as he has done for his
Order. — Make thou to the walls thyself with thy huge
body. — Let me do my poor endeavor in my own way,
and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as well attempt
to scale the clouds,, as the castle of Torquilstone ; or, if
you will treat with the banditti, why not employ the
IVANHOE
353
lediation of this worthy franklin, who seems in such
eep contemplation of the wine-flagon? — Here, Saxon,”
e continued, addressing Athelstane, and handing the
up to him, “rinse thy throat with that noble liquor,
nd rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for thy
berty.”
“What a man of mold may,” answered Athelstane,
providing it be what a man of manhood ought. —
)ismiss me free, with my companions, and I will pay
ransom of a thousand marks.”
“And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that
cum of mankind who are swarming around the castle,
ontrary to God’s peace and the king’s?” said Front-
le-Bceuf.
“In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “I will
withdraw them; and I fear not but that my father
Cedric will do his best to assist me.”
“We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Bceuf — “thou
md they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be
>n both sides, for payment of a thousand marks. It
s trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude
o the moderation which accepts of it in exchange of
raur persons. But mark, this extends not to the
Tew Isaac.”
“Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Tem-
)lar, who had now joined them.
“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “belong to this
Saxon’s company.”
“I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they
lid,” replied Athelstane; “deal with the unbelievers
is ye list.”
“Neither does the ransom include the Lady Ro-
wena,” said De Bracy. “It shall never be said I was
scared out of a fair prize without striking a blow for
it.”
“Neither,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “does our treaty
refer to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I
354
Ivan hoe
may make him an example to every knave who turns
jest into earnest.”
“The Lady Rowena,” answered Athelstane, with the
most steady countenance, “is my affianced bride. I
will be drawn by wild horses before I consent to part
with her. The slave Wamba has this day saved the life
of my father Cedric. I will lose mine ere a hair of his
head be injured.”
“Thy affianced bride? — The Lady Rowena the affi¬
anced bride of a vassal like thee?” said De Bracy.
“Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of thy seven
kingdoms are returned again. I tell thee, the Princes
of the House of Anjou confer not their wards on
men of such lineage as thine.”
“My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane,
“is drawn from a source more pure and ancient than
that of a beggardly Frenchman, whose living is won
by selling the blood of the thieves whom he assembles
under his paltry standard. Kings were my ancestors,
strong in war and wise in council, who every day
feasted in their hall more hundreds than thou canst
number individual followers; whose names have been
sung by minstrels, and their laws recorded by Witten-
agemotes ; whose bones were interred amid the prayers
of saints, and over whose tombs minsters have been
builded.”
“Thou hast it, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Bceuf, well
pleased with the rebuff which his companion had re¬
ceived; “the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.”
“As fairly as a captive can strike,” said De Bracy
with apparent carelessness; “for he whose hands are
tied should have his tongue at freedom. — But thy
glibness of reply, comrade,” rejoined he, speaking to
Athelstane, “will not win the freedom of the Lady
Rowena.”
To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer
IVANHOE
355
jpeech than was his custom to do on any topic, how-
wer interesting, returned no answer. The conversation
vas interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who
announced that a monk demanded admittance at the
iostern gate.
i “In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of these
bull-beggars,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “have we a real
|nonk this time, or another imposter? Search him,
slaves — for an ye suffer a second imposter to be
Dalmed upon you, I will have your eyes torn out, and
lot coals put into the sockets.”
I “Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my
ord,” said Giles, “if this be not a real shaveling.
Four squire Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch
iiim to be brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance
Upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.”
| “Admit him,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “most likely
lie brings us news from his jovial master. Surely
the devil keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved
from duty, that they are strolling thus wildly through
the country. Remove these prisoners; and, Saxon,
think on what thou hast heard.”
I “I claim,” said Athelstane, “an honorable imprison-
jment, with due care of my board and of my couch, as
becomes my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty
for ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself
I the best of you, bound to answer to me with his body
for this aggression on my freedom. This defiance hath
j already been sent to thee by thy sewer; thou underliest
it, and art bound to answer me. There lies my glove.”
“I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,” said
Front-de-Boeuf; “nor shalt thou, Maurice De Bracy.
—Giles,” he continued, “hang the franklin’s glove
upon the tine of yonder branched antlers; there shall
I it remain until he is a free man. Should he then
| presume to demand it, or to affirm he was unlawfully
made my prisoner, by the belt of Saint Christopher,
856
Ivan hoe
he will speak to one who hath never refused to meet
a foe on foot or on horseback, alone or with his vas¬
sals at his back!”
The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed,
just as they introduced the monk Ambrose, who ap¬
peared to be in great perturbation.
“This is the real Deus vobiscum,”1 said Wamba, as
he passed the reverend brother; “the others were but
counterfeits.”
“Holy mother!” said the monk, as he addressed
the assembled knights, “I am at last safe and in Christ¬
ian keeping!”
“Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy ; “and for Christ¬
ianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-
Boeuf, whose utter abomination is a Jew, and the
Good Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose
trade is to slay Saracens. If these are not good marks
of Christianity, I khow no other which they bear about
them.”
“Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father
in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk,
without noticing the tone of De Bracy’s reply; “ye
owe him aid both by knightly faith and holy charity;
for what saith the blessed Saint Augustine,2 3 in his
treatise De Civitate Dei — ”
“What saith the devil!” interrupted Front-de-
Bceuf; “or rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest?
We have little time to hear texts from the holy fath¬
ers.”
uSancta Marial ”* ejaculated father Ambrose,
“how prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen! —
But be it known to you, brave knights, that certain
’God be with you.
2One of the most noted Early Fathers. His best known
work was ‘ The City of God,”
3Holy Mary.
IVANHOE
357
murderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God,
and reverence of his church, and not regarding the
bull of the holy see, Si quis, suadente Diabolo1 — ”
“Brother priests,” said the Templar, “all this we
know or guess at — tell us plainly, is thy master, the
Prior, made prisoner, and to whom?”
“Surely,” said Ambrose, “he is in hands of the
men of Belial,2 infesters of these woods, and con¬
temners of the holy text, ‘Touch not mine anointed, and
do my prophets naught of evil/ ”3
“Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,”
said Front-de-Boeuf, turning to his companions ; “and
so, instead of reaching us any assistance, the Prior
of Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands? A man is
well helped of these lazy churchmen when he hath
most to do! — But speak out, priest, and say at once,
what doth thy master expect from us?”
“So please you,” said Ambrose, “violent hands
having been imposed on my reverend superior, con¬
trary to the holy ordinance which I did already quote,
and the men of Belial having rifled his mails and
budgets, and stripped him of two hundred marks of
pure refined gold, they do yet demand of him a large
sum besides, ere they will suffer him to depart from
their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend
father in God prays you, as his dear friends, to rescue
him, either by paying down the ransom at which they
hold him, or by force of arms, at your best discre¬
tion.”
“The foul fiend quell the Prior!” said Front-de-
Bceuf ; “his morning’s draught has been a deep one.
When did thy master hear of a Norman baron un¬
buckling his purse to relieve a churchman, whose
*“If any one under the Devil’s guidance.1
•Sons of the Devil.
•Psalms OV, 15.
358
I VAN HOE
bags are ten times as weighty as ours ? — And how can
we do aught by valor to free him, that are cooped up
here by ten times our number, and expect an assault
every moment?”
“And that was what I was about to tell you,” said
the monk, “had your hastiness allowed me time. But,
God help me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts dis¬
tract an aged man’s brain. Nevertheless, it is of
verity that they assemble a camp, and raise a bank
against the walls of this castle.”
“To the battlements!” cried De Bracy, “and let us
mark what these knaves do without;” and so saying,
he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of
bartizan or projecting balcony, and immediately called
from thence to those in the apartment — “Saint
Dennis, but the old monk hath brought true tidings !-—
They bring forward mantelets1 and pavisses, and the
archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark
cloud before a hailstorm.”
Reginald Front-de-Bceuf also looked out upon the
field, and immediately snatched his bugle; and, after
winding a long and loud blast, commanded his men
to their posts on the walls.
“De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls
are lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well
taught thee how to attack and defend, look thou to
the western side — I myself will take post at the bar-
^‘Temporary and movable defenses formed of planks,
under cover of which the assailants advanced to the at¬
tack of fortified places of old. Pavisses were a species of
large shields covering the whole person, employed on the
same occasions.” (Scott’s note.) “The bolt was the ar¬
row peculiarly fitted to the cross bow, as that of the
long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the English proverb —
‘I will either make a shaft, or bolt of it,* signifying a de¬
termination to make one use or other of the thing rspoken
of” (Scott’s note.)
IVANHOE
359
ifican.1 Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one
>pot, noble friends !— we must this day be everywhere,
md multiply ourselves, were it possible, so as to carry
>y our presence succor and relief wherever the attack
s hottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and
Courage may supply that defect, since we have only
;o do with rascal clowns.”
“But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose,
imidst the bustle and confusion occasioned by the
preparations for defense, “will none of ye hear the
nessage of the reverend father in God, Aymer, Prior
}f Jorvaulx? — I beseech thee to hear me, noble Sir
Reginald!”
“Go patter thy petitions to heaven,” said the fierce
Norman, “for we on earth have no time to listen to
them. — Ho! there, Anselm! see that seething pitch
land oil are ready to pour on the heads of these au¬
dacious traitors. Look that the cross bowmen lack
not bolts. Fling abroad my banner with the old bull’s
head — the knaves shall soon find with whom they have
to do this day!”
“But, noble sir,” continued the monk, persevering
in his endeavors to draw attention, consider my vow
of obedience, and let me discharge myself of my su¬
perior’s errand.”
“Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de-
Bceuf, “lock him up in the chapel, to tell his beads till
the broil be over. It will be a new thing to the saints
in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters ; they have not
^‘Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer walls,
a fortification composed of palisades, called the barriers,
which were often the scene of severe skirmishes, as these
must necessarily be carried before the walls themselves
could be approached. Many of those valiant feats of arms
which adorn the chivalrous pages of Froissart took place
at the barriers of besieged places.” (Scott’s note.)
360
Ivan hoe
been so honored, I trow, since they were cut out o:
stone.”
“Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald/
said De Bracy; “we shall have need of their aid to-daj
before yon rascal rout disband.”
“I expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de
Boeuf, “unless we were to hurl them from the battle
ments on the heads of the villains. There is a hug(
lumbering Saint Christopher yonder, sufficient to beai
a whole company to the earth.”
The Templar had in the meantime been looking ow
on the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more
attention than the brutal Front-de-Bceuf or his giddj
companion.
“By the faith of mine order,” he said, “these mei
approach with more touch of discipline than coulc
have been judged, however they come by it. See
ye how dexterously they avail themselves of everj
cover which a tree or bush affords, and shun exposing
themselves to the shot of our crossbows ? I spy neithei
banner nor pennon among them, and yet will I gage
my golden chain, that they are led on by some noble
knight or gentleman, skillful in the practice of wars/
“I espy him,” said De Bracy ; “I see the waving of a
knight’s crest, and the gleam of his armor. See yor
tall man in the black mail, who is busied marshaling
the farther troop to the rascaille yeoman — by Sainl
Dennis, I hold him to be the same whom we called Le
Noir Faineant, who overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf,
in the lists of Ashby.”
“So much the better,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “that
he comes here to give me my revenge. Some hilding
fellow he must be, who dared not stay to assert his
claim to the tourney prize which chance had assigned
him. I should in vain have sought for him where
knights and nobles seek their foes, and right glad
IVANHOE
361
am I he hath here shown himself among yon villain
yeomanry.”
The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate ap¬
proach cut off all further discourse. Each knight
repaired to his post, and at the head of the few fol¬
lowers whom they were able to muster, and who were
in numbers inadequate to defend the whole extent of
the walls, they awaited with calm determination the
threatened assault.
CHAPTER XXVIII
This wandering race, sever’d from other men,
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ;
The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt.
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures ;
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, ,
Display undreamt-of powers when gather’d by them.
The tfeic.
Our history must needs retrograde for the space of
a few pages, to inform the reader of certain passages
material to his understanding the rest of this impor¬
tant narrative. His own intelligence may indeed
have easily anticipated that, when Ivanhoe sunk down,
and seemed abandoned by all the world, it was the im¬
portunity of Rebecca which prevailed on her father to
have the gallant young warrior transported from the
lists to the house which for the time the Jews inhab¬
ited in the suburbs of Ashby.
It would not have been difficult to have persuaded
Isaac to this step in any other circumstances, for his
disposition was kind and grateful. But he had also
the prejudices and scrupulous timidity of his per¬
secuted people, and those were to be conquered.
'‘Holy Abraham!” he exclaimed, “he is a good
youth, and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle
down his rich embroidered hacqueton, and his corse¬
let of goodly price — but to carry him to our house ! —
damsel, hast thou well considered? — he is a Christ-
tian, and by our law we may not deal with the
stranger and Gentile, save for the advantage of our
commerce.”
“Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Rebecca;
“we may not indeed mix with them in banquet and
Question: How many different distinct points of inter¬
est are brought out in this last chapter?
IVANHOE
363
in jollity; but in wounds and in misery, the Gentile
becometh the Jew’s brother.”
“I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob Ben Tudela
would opine on it,” replied Isaac; — “nevertheless,
the good youth must not bleed to death. Let Seth
and Reuben bear him to Ashby.”
“Nay, let them place him in my litter,” said Re¬
becca; “I will mount one of the palfreys.”
“That were to expose thee to the gaze of those
dogs of Ishmael and of Edom”1 2 whispered Isaac, with
a suspicious glance towards the crowd of knights and
squires. But Rebecca was already busied in carrying
her charitable purpose into effect, and listed not what
j he said, until Isaac, seizing the sleeve of her mantle,
again exclaimed, in a hurried voice — “Beard of Aaron"1
— what if the youth perish ! — if he die in our custody,
shall we not be held guilty of his blood, and be torn
to pieces by the multitude?”
“He will not die, my father,” said Rebecca, gently
extricating herself from the grasp of Isaac— “he will
not die unless we abandon him ; and if so, we are indeed
answerable for his blood to God and to man.
“Nay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “it grieveth
me as much to see the drops of his blood, as if they
were so many golden byzants from mine own puise,
and I well know, that the lessons of Miriam, daugh¬
ter of the Rabbi Manasses of Byzantium, whose soul
is in Paradise, have made thee skillful in the art of
healing, and that thou knowest the craft of herbs,
and the force of elixirs.3 Therefore, do as thy mind
giveth thee— thou art a good damsel, a blessing, and
*A country in Palestine hostile to Israel.
2Psalm CXXXIII, 2. ‘ . <wi
3 An imaginary cordial supposed to be capable of sustain¬
ing life indefinitely.
364
IVANHOE
a crown, and a song of rejoicing unto me and unto
my house, and unto the people of my fathers.”
The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill
founded; and the generous and grateful benevolence
of his daughter exposed her, on her return to Ashby,
to the unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
The Templar twice passed and repassed them on the
road, fixing his bold and ardent look on the beautiful
Jewess; and we have already seen the consequences
of the admiration which her charms excited, when
accident threw her into the power of that unprin¬
cipled voluptuary.
Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be
transported to their temporary dwelling, and pro¬
ceeded with her own hands to examine and to bind
up his wounds. The youngest reader of romances
and romantic ballads, must recollect how often the
females, during the dark ages, as they are called,
were initiated into the mysteries of surgery, and
how frequently the gallant knight submitted the
wounds of his person to her cure, whose eyes had yet
more deeply penetrated his heart.
But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and
practiced the medical science in all its branches, and
the monarchs^and powerful barons of the time fre¬
quently committed themselves to the charge of some
experienced sage among this despised people, when
wounded or in sickness. The aid of the Jewish
physicians was not the less eagerly sought after,
though a general belief prevailed among the Chris¬
tians, that the Jewish Rabbin were deeply acquainted
with the occult sciences, and particularly with the
cabalistical art which had its name and origin in
the studies of the sages of Israel. Neither did the
Rabbins disown such acquaintance with supernat¬
ural arts, which added nothing (for what could add
lVANHOE
365
aught?) to the hatred with which their nation was
regarded, while it diminished the contempt with which
that malevolence was mingled. A Jewish magician
might be the subject of equal abhorrence with a Jewish
usurer, but he could not be equally despised. It is
besides probable, considering the wonderful cures they
are said to have performed, that the Jews possessed
some secrets of the healing art peculiar to themselves,
and which, with the exclusive spirit arising out of
their condition, they took great care to conceal from
the Christians amongst whom they dwelt.
The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully brought
up in all the knowledge proper to her nation, which
her apt and powerful mind had retained, arranged,
and enlarged, in the course of a progress beyond her
years, her sex, and even the age in which she lived.
Her knowledge of medicine and of the healing art
had been acquired under an aged Jewess, the daugh¬
ter of one of their most celebrated doctors, who loved
Rebecca as her own child, and was believed to have
communicated to her secrets, which had been left to
herself by her sage father at the same time, and
under the same circumstances. The fate of Miriam
had indeed been to fall a sacrifice to the fanaticism
of the times; but her secrets had survived in her apt
pupil.
Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with
beauty, was universally revered and admired by her
own tribe, who almost regarded her as one of those
gifted women mentioned in the sacred history. Her
rather himself, out of reverence for her talents,
which involuntarily mingled itself with his unbounded
affection, permitted the maiden a greater liberty than
was usually indulged to those of her sex by the habits
of her people, and was, as we have just seen, fre¬
quently guided by her opinion, even in preference to
his own.
366
Ivan hoe
When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he
was still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the
profuse loss of blood which had taken place during
his exertions in the lists. Rebecca examined the
wound, and having applied to it such vulnerary reme¬
dies as her art prescribed, informed her father that
if fever could be averted, of which the great bleeding
rendered her little apprehensive, and if the healing
balsam of Miriam retained its virtue, there was noth¬
ing to fear for his guest’s life, and that he might
with safety travel to York with them on the ensuing
day. Isaac looked a little blank at this annunciation.
His charity would willingly have stopped short at
Ashby, or at most would have left the wounded Chris¬
tian to be tended in the house where he was residing
at present, with an assurance to the Hebrew to whom
it belonged, that all expenses should be duly dis¬
charged. To this, however, Rebecca opposed many
reasons, of which we shall only mention two that had
peculiar weight with Isaac. The one was, that she
would on no account put the phial of precious balsam
into the hands of another physician even of her own
tribe, lest that valuable mystery should be discovered ;
the other, that this wounded knight, Wilfred of Ivan¬
hoe, was an intimate favorite of Richard Coeur-de
Lion, and that, in case the monarch should return,
Isaac, who had supplied his brother John with treasure
to prosecute his rebellious purposes, would stand in no
small need of a powerful protector who enjoyed
Richard’s favor.
“Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,” said Isaac,
giving way to these weighty arguments — “it were an
offending Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed
Miriam; for the good which Heaven giveth, is not
rashly to be squandered upon others, whether it be
talents of gold and shekels of silver, or whether it be
the secret mysteries of a wise physician — assuredly
IVANHOE
367
they should be preserved to those to whom Providence
hath vouchsafed them. And him whom the Nazarenes
of England call the Lion’s Heart, assuredly it were
better for me to fall into the hands of a strong lion
of Idumea than into his, if he shall have got assurance
of my dealing with his brother. Wherefore I will lend
ear to thy counsel, and this youth shall journey with
us unto York, and our house shall be as a home to
him until his wounds shall be healed. And if he of
the Lion Heart shall return to the land, as is now
noised abroad, then shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoe be
unto me as a wall of defense, when the king’s dis¬
pleasure shall burn high against thy father. And if
he doth not return, this Wilfred may natheless repay
us our charges when he shall gain treasure by the
I strength of his spear and of his sword, even as he did
yesterday and this day also. For the youth is a good
youth, and keepeth the day which he appointeth, and
| restoreth that which he borrowed, and succoreth the
Israelite, even the child of my father’s house, when he
is encompassed by strong thieves and sons of Belial.”
It was not until evening was nearly closed that
Ivanhoe was restored to consciousness of his situa¬
tion. He awoke from a broken slumber, under the con¬
fused impressions which are naturally attendant on
the recovery from a state of insensibility. He was un¬
able for some time to recall exactly to memory the cir¬
cumstances which had preceded his fall in the lists, or
to make out any connected chain of the events in which
he had been engaged upon the yesterday. A sense
of wounds and injury, joined to great weakness and
exhaustion, was mingled with the recollection of blows
dealt and received, of steeds rushing upon each other,
overthrowing and overthrown — of shouts and clash¬
ing of arms, and all the heady tumult of a confused
fight. An effort to draw aside the curtain of his couch
368
IVANITOE
was in some degree successful, although rendered
difficult by the pain of his wound.
To his great surprise he found himself in a room
magnificently furnished, but having cushions instead
of chairs to rest upon, and in other respects partaking
so much of oriental costume, that he began to doubt
whether he had not, during his sleep, been tran¬
sported back again to the land of Palestine. The
impression was increased, when, the tapestry being
drawn aside, a female form, dressed in a rich habit,
which partook more of the Eastern taste than that
of Europe, glided through the door, which it con¬
cealed, and was followed by a swarthy domestic.
As the wounded knight was about to address this
fair apparition, she imposed silence by placing her
slender finger upon her ruby lips, while the attend¬
ant, approaching him, proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s
side, and the lovely Jewess satisfied herself that the
bandage was in its place, and the wound doing well.
She performed her task with a graceful and dignified
simplicity and modesty, which might, even in more
civilized days, have served to redeem it from whatever
might seem repugnant to female delicacy. The idea
of so young and beautiful a person engaged in at¬
tendance on a sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of
one of a different sex, was melted away and lost in
that of a beneficent being contributing her effectual
aid to relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death.
Rebecca’s few and brief directions were given in the
Hebrew language to the old domestic ; and he, who had
been frequently her assistant in similar cases, obeyed
them without reply.
The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh
they might have sounded when uttered by another,
had, coming from the beautiful Rebecca, the romantic
and pleasing effect which fancy ascribes to the
charms pronounced by some beneficent fairy, unin-
IVANHOE
369
telligible, indeed, to the ear, but, from the sweetness
of utterance, and benignity of aspect, which accom¬
panied them, touching and affecting to the heart.
Without making an attempt at further question, Ivan-
hoe suffered them in silence to take the measures
they thought most proper for his recovery ; and it was
not until those were completed, and this kind phy¬
sician about to retire, that his curiosity could no lon¬
ger be suppressed. — “Gentle maiden/’ he began in the
Arabian tongue, with which his Eastern travels had
rendered him familiar, and which he thought most
likely to be understood by the turban’d and caftan’d1
damsel who stood before him — “I pray you,, gentle
maiden, of your courtesy - ”
But here he was interruped by his fair physician,
a smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling for
! an instant a face, whose general expression was that
of contemplative melancholy. “I am of England, Sir
Knight, and speak the English tongue, although my
dress and my lineage belong to another climate/’
“Noble damsel,” — again the Knight of Ivanhoe be¬
gan; and again Rebecca hastened to interrupt him.
“Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,” she said, “the
epithet of noble. It is well you should speedily know
that your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter
of that Isaac of York, to whom you were so lately a
good and kind lord. It well becomes him, and those
of his household, to render to you such careful ten¬
dance as your present state necessarily demands.”
I know not whether the fair Rowena would have
been altogether satisfied with the species of emotion
with which her devoted knight had hitherto gazed
on the beautiful features, and fair form, and lustrous
eyes, of the lovely Rebecca ; eyes whose brilliancy was
’Dressed in caftan, a long Turkish undercoat with long
sleeves and sash.
370
I VAN HOE
shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, by the fringe of
her long silken eyelashes, and which a minstrel would
have compared to the evening star darting its rays
through a bower of jessamine. But Ivanhoe was too
good a Catholic to retain the same class of feelings
towards a Jewess. This Rebecca had foreseen, and
for this very purpose she had hastened to mention
her father’s name and lineage; yet — for the fair and
wise daughter of Isaac was not without a touch of
female weakness — she could not but sigh internally
when the glance of respectful admiration, not alto¬
gether unmixed with tenderness, with which Ivanhoe
had hitherto regarded his unknown benefactress, was
exchanged at once for a manner cold, composed, and
collected, and fraught with no deeper feeling than
that which expressed a grateful sense of courtesy re¬
ceived from an unexpected quarter, and from one
of an inferior race. It was not that Ivanhoe’s former
carriage expressed more than that general devotional
homage which youth always pays to beauty; yet it
was mortifying that one word should operate as a
spell to remove poor Rebecca, who could not be sup¬
posed altogether ignorant of her title to such homage,
into a degraded class, to whom it could not be honor¬
ably rendered.
But the gentleness and candor of Rebecca’s nature
imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the uni¬
versal prejudices of his age and religion. On the
contrary, the fair Jewess, though sensible her patient
now regarded her as one of a race of reprobation,
with whom it was disgraceful to hold any beyond the
most necessary intercourse, ceased not to pay the
same patient and devoted attention to his safety and
convalescence. She informed him of the necessity
they were under of removing to York, and of her
father’s resolution to transport him thither, and tend
IVANHOE
371
him in his own house until his health should be re¬
stored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance to this
plan, which he grounded on unwillingness to give
farther trouble to his benefactors.
“Wah there not/’ he said, “in Ashby, or near it,
some Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant,
who would endure the burden of a wounded country¬
man’s residence with him until he should be again
able to bear his armor? — Was there no convent of
Saxon endowment, where he could be received? — Or
could he not be transported as far as Burton, where
he was sure to find hospitality with Waltheoff, the
Abbot of St. Withold’s, to whom he was related?”
“Any, the worst of these harborages,” said Re¬
becca, with a melancholy smile, “would unquestion¬
ably be more fitting for your residence than the abode
of a despised Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unless you would
dismiss your physician, you cannot change your
lodging. Our nation, as you well know, can cure
wounds, though we deal not in inflicting them; and
in our own family, in particular, are secrets which
have been handed down since the days of Solomon,
and of which you have already experienced the ad¬
vantages. No Nazarene — I crave your forgiveness,
Sir Knight — no Christian leech, within the four seas
of Britain, could enable you to bear your corselet
within a month.”
“And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it?”
said Ivanhoe, impatiently.
“Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and
conformable to my directions,” replied Rebecca.
“By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, “if it be
not a sin to name her here, it is no time for me or
any true knight to be bedridden ; and if thou accom¬
plish thy promise, maiden, I will pay thee with my
casque full of crowns, come by them as I may.”
372
Ivan hoe
“I will accomplish my promise,” said Rebecca,
“and thou shalt bear thine armor on the eighth day
from hence, if thou wilt grant me but one boon in the
stead of the silver thou dost promise me.”
“If it be within my power, and such as a true
Christian knight may yield to one of thy people,”
replied Ivanhoe, “I will grant thy boon blithely and
thankfully.”
“Nay,” answered Rebecca, “I will but pray of thee
to believe henceforward that a Jew may do good ser¬
vice to a Christian, without desiring other guerdon
than the blessing of the Great Father who made both
Jew and Gentile.”
“It were sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe;
“and I repose myself on thy skill without further
scruple or question, well trusting you will enable me to
bear my corselet on the eighth day. And now, my kind
leech, let me inquire the news abroad. — What of the
noble Saxon Cedric and his household? — what of the
lovely Lady” — He stopped, as if unwilling to speak
Rowena’s name in the house of a Jew — “Of her, I
mean, who was named Queen of the tournament?”
“And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to hold
that dignity, with judgment which was admired as
much as your valor,” replied Rebecca.
The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a
flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had in¬
cautiously betrayed his deep interest in Rowena by
the awkward attempt he had made to conceal it.
“It was less of her I would speak,” said he, “than
of Prince John; and I would fain know somewhat of
a faithful squire, and why he now attends me not.”
“Let me use my authority as a leech,” answered
Rebecca, “and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid
agitating reflections, whilst I apprise you of what you
desire to know. Prince John hath broken off the
IVANHOE
373
tournament, and set forward in all haste towards
York, with the nobles, knights, and churchmen of his
party, after collecting such sums as they could wring,
by fair means or foul, from those who are esteemed
the wealthy of the land. It is said he designs to as¬
sume his brother’s crown.”
“Not without a blow struck in its defense,” said
Ivanhoe, raising himself upon the couch, “if there
were but one true subject in England. I will fight
for Richard’s title with the best of them — ay, one or
two, in his just quarrel!”
“But that you may be able to do so,” said Rebecca,
touching his shoulder with her hand, “you must now
observe my directions, and remain quiet.”
“True, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, “as quiet as these
disquieted times will permit. — And of Cedric and his
household?”
“His steward came but a brief while since,” said
the Jewess, “panting with haste, to ask my father
for certain moneys, the price of wool, the growth of
Cedric’s flocks, and from him I learned that Cedric
and Athelstane of Coningsburgh had left Prince
John’s lodging in high displeasure, and were about
i to set forth on their return homeward.”
“Went any lady with them to the banquet?” said
Wilfred.
“The Lady Rowena,” said Rebecca, answering the
question with more precision than it had been asked —
“The Lady Rowena went not to the Prince’s feast,
and, as the steward reported to us, she is now on her
journey back to Rotherwood, with her guardian
Cedric. And touching your faithful squire Gurth — ”
“Ha!” exclaimed the knight, “knowest thou his
name? — But thou dost,” he immediately added, “and
well thou mayest, for it was from thy hand, and, as
I am now convinced, from thine own generosity of
374
Ivan hoe
spirit, that he received but yesterday a hundred zec-
chins.”
“Speek not of that,” said Rebecca, blushing deeply;
“I see how easy it is for the tongue to betray what
the heart would gladly conceal.”
“But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe, gravely, “my
honor is concerned in repaying it to your father.”
“Let it be as thou wilt,” said Rebecca, “when eight
days have passed away; but think not, and speak not
now, of aught that may retard thy recovery.”
“Be it so, kind maiden,” said Ivanhoe; “I were
most ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But one
word of the fate of poor Gurth, and I have done with
questioning thee.”
“I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,” answered the
Jewess, “that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.”
— And then, observing the distress which her com¬
munication gave to Wilfred, she instantly added, “But
the steward Oswald said, that if nothing occurred to
renew his master’s displeasure against him, he was
sure that Cedric would pardon Gurth, a faithful serf,
and one who stood high in favor, and who had but
committed this error out of the love which he bore
to Cedric’s son. And he said, moreover, that he and
his comrades, and especially Wamba the Jester, were
resolved to warn Gurth to make his escape by the
way, in case Cedric’s ire against him could not be
mitigated.”
“Would to God they may keep their purpose!” said
Ivanhoe; “but it seems as if I were destined to bring
ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness to me. My
king, by whom I was honored and distinguished, thou
seest that the brother most indebted to him is rais-
ing his arms to grasp his crown ; — my regard hath
brought restraint and trouble on the fairest of her
sex; — and now my father in his mood may slay this
IVANHOE 375
poor bondsman, but for his love and loyal service to
me! — Thou seest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch
thou dost labor to assist; be wise, and let me go, ere
the misfortunes which track my footsteps like slot-
hounds, shall involve thee also in their pursuit.”
“Nay,” said Rebecca, “thy weakness and thy grief,
Sir Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of
Heaven. Thou hast been restored to thy country
when it most needed the assistance of a strong hand
and a true heart, and thou hast humbled the pride of
thine enemies and those of thy king, when their horn1
was most highly exalted; and for the evil which thou
hast sustained, seest thou not that Heaven has raised
thee a helper and a physician, even among the most
despised of the land? — Therefore be of good courage,
and trust that thou art preserved for some marvel
which thine arm shall work before this people. Adieu
— and having taken the medicine which I shall send
thee by the hand of Reuben, compose thyself again to
rest, that thou mayest be the more able to endure the
journey on the succeeding day.”
Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and
obeyed the directions of Rebecca. The draught which
Reuben administered was of a sedative and narcotic
quality, and secured the patient sound and undis¬
turbed slumbers. In the morning his kind physician
found him entirely free from feverish symptoms and
fit to undergo the fatigue, of a journey.
He was deposited in the horse-litter which had
brought him from the lists, and every precaution
taken for his traveling with ease. In one circum¬
stance only even the entreaties of Rebecca were un¬
able to secure sufficient attention to the accommoda¬
tion of the wounded knight. Isaac, like the enriched
symbol of power. Psalms CXII, 9.
376
IVANIIOE
traveler of Juvenal’s1 tenth satire, had ever the fear of
robbery before his eyes, conscious that he would be
alike accounted fair game by the marauding Nor¬
man noble, and by the Saxon outlaw. He therefore
journeyed at a great rate, and made short halts, and
shorter repasts, so that he passed by Cedric and
Athelstane, who had several hours the start of him,
but who had been delayed by their protracted feast¬
ing at the convent of Saint Withold’s. Yet such was
the virtue of Miriam’s balsam, or such the strength
of Ivanhoe’s constitution, that he did not sustain from
the hurried journey that inconvenience which his
kind physician had apprehended.
In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste
proved somewhat more than good speed. The rapid¬
ity with which he insisted on traveling, bred several
disputes between him and the party whom he had
hired to attend him as a guard. These men were
Saxons, and not free by any means from the national
love of ease and good living which the Normans
stigmatized as laziness and gluttony. Reversing
Shylock’s position, they had accepted the employ¬
ment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy Jew, and
were very much displeased when they found themselves
disappointed, by the rapidity with which he insisted
on their proceeding. They remonstrated also upon
the risk of damage to their horses by these forced
marches. Finally, there arose betwixt Isaac and his
satellites a deadly feud, concerning the quantity of
wine and ale to be allowed for consumption at each
meal. And thus it happened, that when the alarm
of danger approached, and that which Isaac feared
was likely to come upon him, he was deserted by the
discontented mercenaries on whose protection he had
‘Juvenal, a famous Roman poet, 38 to 120.
IVANHOE
377
relied, without using the means necessary to secure
their attachment.
In this deplorable condition the Jew, with his
daughter and his wounded patient, were found by
Cedric, as has already been noticed, and soon after¬
wards fell into the power of De Bracy and his con¬
federates. Little notice was at first taken of the
! horse-litter, and it might have remained behind but
i for the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into it
under the impression that it might contain the ob-
jject of his enterprise, for Rowena had not unveiled
herself. But De Bracy’s astonishment was consid¬
erable, when he discovered that the litter contained
a wounded man, who, conceiving himself to have
fallen into the power of Saxon outlaws, with whom
i his name might be a protection for himself and his
j friends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred of
| Ivanhoe.
The ideas of chivalrous honor, which, amidst his
wildness and levity, never utterly abandoned De
Bracy, prohibited him from doing the knight any
injury in his defenseless condition, and equally in¬
terdicted his betraying him to Front-de-Bceuf, who
would have had no scruples to put to death, under
any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of
Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate a suitor
preferred by the Lady Rowena, as the events of the
tournament, and indeed Wilfred’s previous banish¬
ment from his father’s house, had made matter of no¬
toriety, was a pitch far above the flight of De Bracy’s
generosity. A middle course betwixt good and evil
was all which he found himself capable of adopting,
and he commanded two of his own squires to keep
close by the litter, and to suffer no one to approach
Question : Where did you find out before that De Bracy
already knew about Ivanhoe?
378
Ivan hoe
it. If questioned, they were directed by their master
to say, that the empty litter of the Lady Rowena was
employed to transport one of their comrades who had
been wounded in the scuffle. On arriving at Torquil-
stone, while the Knight Templar and the lord of that
castle were each intent upon their own schemes, the
one on the Jew’s treasure, and the other on his daugh¬
ter, De Bracy’s squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still un¬
der the name of a wounded comrade, to a distant
apartment. This explanation was accordingly re¬
turned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when he ques¬
tioned them why they did not make for the battle¬
ments upon the alarm.
“A wounded companion!” he replied in great wrath
and astonishment. “No wonder that churls and yeo¬
men wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer be¬
fore castles, and that clowns and swineherds send de¬
fiances to nobles, since men-at-arms have turned sick
men’s nurses, and Free Companions are grown keep¬
ers of dying folk’s curtains, when the castle is about
to be assailed. — To the ^battlements, ye loitering vil¬
lains!” he exclaimed, raising his stentorian voice till
the arches around rung again, “to the battlements, or
I will splinter your bones with this truncheon!”
The men sulkily replied, “that they desired noth¬
ing better than to go to the battlements, providing
Front-de-Bceuf would bear them out with their mas¬
ter, who had commanded them to tend the dying
man.”
“The dying man, knaves!” rejoined the Baron; “I
promise thee we shall all be dying men an we stand ,
not to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve the
guard upon this caitiff companion of yours. — Here,
Urfried — hag — fiend of a Saxon witch — hearest me
not? — tend me this bedridden fellow, since he must
heeds be tended, whilst these knaves use their weap-
IVANHOE
379
ons. — Here be two arblasts,1 comrades, with windlaces
and quarrels — to the barbican with you, and see you
drive each bolt through a Saxon brain.”
The men, who, like most of their description, were
fond of enterprise and detested inaction, wTent joy¬
fully to the scene of danger as they were commanded,
and thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to
Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, whose brain was burn¬
ing with remembrance of injuries and with hopes of
vengeance, was readily induced to devolve upon Re¬
becca the care of her patient.
!“THe arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine
used in bending that weapon, and the quarrell so called
from its square or diamond-shaped head, was the bolt
bolt adapted to it.” (Scott’s note).
CHAPTER XXIX
Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier,
Look on the field, and say how goes the battle.
Schiller’s Maid of Orleans.
A moment of peril is often also a moment of open-
hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off
our guard by the general agitation of our feelings,
and betray the intensity of those which, at more
tranquil periods, our prudence at least conceals, if it
cannot altogether suppress them. In finding herself
once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was aston¬
ished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she
experienced, even at a time when all around them
both was danger, if not despair. As she felt his
pulse, and inquired after his health, there was a soft¬
ness in her touch and in her accents, implying a kind¬
er interest than she would herself have been pleased
to have voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered and
her hand trembled, and it was only the cold question
of Ivanhoe, “Is it you, gentle maiden ?” which recalled
her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which
she felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh
escaped, but it was scarce audible; and the questions
which she asked the knight concerning his state of
health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivan¬
hoe answered her hastily that he was, in point of
health, as well, and better than he could have ex¬
pected Thanks, ” he said, “dear Rebecca, to thy
helpful skill.”
“He calls me dear Rebecca,” said the maiden to
herself, “but it is in the cold and careless tone which
ill suits the word. His war-horse — his hunting hound,
are dearer to him than the despised Jewess!”
“My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “is
more disturbed by anxiety, than my body with pain,
IVANHOE
381
?rom the speeches of these men who were my ward¬
ers just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and,
f I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which even
low dispatches them hence on some military duty,
[ am in the castle of Front-de-Bceuf. If so, how will
:his end, or how can I protect Rowena and my fath¬
er?”
! “He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca,
internally; “yet what is our portion in him, and how
justly am I punished by Heaven for letting my
thoughts dwell upon him!” She hastened after this
brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what informa¬
tion she could; but it amounted only to this, that the
Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron Front-de-
jBoeuf, were commanders within the castle; that it
was beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew
not. She added, that there was a Christian priest
within the castle who might be possessed of more in¬
formation.
“A Christian priest!” said the knight, joyfully;
“fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst — say a sick
man desires his ghostly counsel— say what thou wilt,
but bring him — something I must do or attempt, but
how can I determine until I know how matters stand
without?”
Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe,
made that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded
knight’s chamber, which was defeated as we have al¬
ready seen by the interference of Urfried, who had
I been also on the watch to intercept the supposed
monk. Rebecca retired to communicate to Ivanhoe
the result of her errand.
They had not much leisure to regret the failure of
this source of intelligence, or to contrive by what
means it might be supplied ; for the noise within the
castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations which
382 Ivan hoe
had been considerable for some time, now increased
into tenfold bustle and clamor. The heavy, yet hasty
step of the men-at-arms, traversed the battlements,
or resounded on the narrow and winding passages
and stairs which led to the various bartizans and
points of defense. The voices of the knights were
heard, animating their followers, or directing means
of defense, while their commands were often drowned
in the clashing of armor, or the clamorous shouts of
those whom they addressed. Tremendous as these
sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful
event which they presaged, there was a sublimity
mixed with them, which Rebecca’s high-toned mind
could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye
kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks ;
and there was a strong mixture of fear, and of a
thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half
whispering to herself, half speaking to her compan¬
ion, the sacred text, — “The quiver rattleth1 — the
glittering spear and the shield — the noise of the cap¬
tains and the shouting!”
But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sub¬
lime passage, glowing with impatience at his inactiv¬
ity, and with his ardent desire to mingle in the af¬
fray of which these sounds were the introduction.
“If I could but drag myself,” he said, “to yonder
window, that I might see how this brave game is like
to go — If I had bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-ax
to strike were it but a single blow for our deliver¬
ance! — It is in vain — it is in vain — I am alike nerve¬
less and weaponless!”
“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebec¬
ca, “the sounds have ceased of a sudden — it may¬
be they join not battle.”
“Thou knowest naught of it,” said Wilfred, im-
\Tob XXXIX. 23-25,
IVANHOE
383
•atiently; “this dead pause only shows that the men
re at their posts on the walls, and expecting an
hstant attack; what we have heard was but the dis-
ant muttering of the storm — it will burst anon in all
ts fury. — Could I but reach yonder window!”
“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble
might,” replied his attendant. Observing his ex-
reme solicitude, she firmly added, “I myself will
tand at the lattice, and describe to you as I can what
>asses without.”
“You must not — you shall not!” exclaimed Ivan-
loe; “each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark
-or the archers; some random shaft - ”
“It shall be welcome!” murmured Rebecca, as with
|irm pace she ascended two or three steps, which led
:o the window of which they spoke.
“Rebecca, dear Rebecca!” exclaimed Ivanhoe,
“this is no maiden’s pastime — do not expose thyself
to wounds and death, and render me forever miser¬
able for having given the occasion; at least, cover
thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as
little of your person at the lattice as may be.”
Following with wonderful promptitude the direc¬
tions of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protec¬
tion of the large ancient shield, which she placed
against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with
tolerable security to herself, could witness part of
what was passing without the castle, and report to
Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were
making for the storm. Indeed, the situation which
she thus obtained was peculiarly favorable for this
purpose, because, being placed on an angle of the main
building, Rebecca could not only see what passed be¬
yond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded
a view of the outwork likely to be the first object of
the meditated assault. It was an exterior fortification
384
IVANKOE
of no great height or strength, intended to protect the
postern-gate, through which Cedrick had been recent¬
ly dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat di¬
vided this species of barbican from the rest of the
fortress, so that, in case of .its being taken, it was
easy to cut off the communication with the main
building, by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In
the outwork was a sallyport corresponding to the
postern of the castle, and the whole was surrounded
by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from
the number of men placed for the defense of this
post, that the besieged entertained apprehensions for
its safety; and from the mustering of the assailants
in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it
seemed no less plain that it had been selected as a
vulnerable point of attack.
These appearances she hastily communicated to
Ivanhoe, and added, “The skirts of the wood seem
lined with archers, although only a few are advanced
from its dark shadow.”
“Under what banner?” asked Ivanhoe.
“Under no ensign of war which I can observe,”
answered Rebecca.
“A singular novelty/’ muttered the knight, “to
advance to storm such a castle without pennon or
banner displayed! — Seest thou who they be that act
as leaders?”
“A knight, clad in sable armor, is the most con¬
spicuous,” said the Jewess; “he alone is armed from
head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of
all around him.”
“What device does he bear on his shield?” re¬
plied Ivanhoe.
“Something resembling a bar of iron, and a pad¬
lock painted blue on the black shield.”
“A fetterlock and shackelbolt azure,” said Ivan-
IVANHOE
385
ioe; “I know not who may bear the device, but well
I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou not
ee the motto?”
“Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied
iebecca; “but when the sun glances fair upon his
hield, it shows as I tell you.”
| “Seem there no other leaders?” exclaimed the
mxious inquirer.
“None of mark and distinction that I can behold
from this station,” said Rebecca; “but, doubtless,
he other side of the castle is also assailed. They
tppear even now preparing to advance — God of
Sion, protect us! — What a dreadful sight! — Those
who advance first bear huge shields and defenses
jnade of plank; the others follow, bending their bows
is they come on. — They raise their bows! — God of
Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast made!”
Her description was here suddenly interrupted by
he signal for assault, which was given by the blast
)f a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flour¬
ish of Norman trumpets from the battlements,
which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of
the nakers (a species of kettle-drum), retorted in
notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy. The
shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din,
the assailants crying, “Saint George for merry Eng¬
land!” and the Normans answering them with loud
cries of “En avant1 De Bracy! — Beau-seant! — Beau-
seantl — Front-de-Boeuf aJ la rescousse according
to the war-cries of their different commanders.
It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was
to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assail¬
ants were met by an equally vigorous defense on the
part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their
forward.
*To the rescue.
386
Ivan hoe
woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the
long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate phrase of the
time, so “wholly together,” that no point at whicl
a defender could show the least part of his person
escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy dis
charge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail
while, notwithstanding, every arrow had its individ
ual aim, and flew by scores together against each em
brasure and opening in the parapets, as well as a
every window where a defender either occasionally
had post, or might be suspected to be stationed, — ty
this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrisor
were slain, and several others wounded. But, confi
dent in their armor of proof, and in the cover which
their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de
Bceuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defens 1
proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replie I
with the discharge of their large crossbows, as we I
as with their long-bows, slings, and other missil 1
weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows ;
and, as the assailants were necessarily but indiffei
ently protected, did considerably more damage tha i
they received at their hand. The whizzing of shaft ;
and of missiles, on both sides, was only interrupte I
by the shouts which arose when either side inflicte I
or sustained some notable loss.
“And I must lie here like a bed-ridden monk,
exclaimed Ivanhoe, “while the game that gives m
freedom or death is played out by the hand of others I
— Look from the window once again, kind maiden
but beware that you are not marked by the archer?
beneath — look out once more, and tell me if the1
yet advance to the storm.”
With patient courage, strengthened by the intervjl
which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebeccs
again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, hov -
IVANHOE
387
ver, so as not to be visible from beneath.
; “What dost thou see, Rebecca?” again demanded
le wounded knight.
“Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick
s to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who
boot them.”
“That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe, “if they
ress not right on to carry the castle by pure force
f arms, the archery may avail but little against
tone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight
f the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears
imself ; for as the leader is, so will his followers
e”
“I see him not,” said Rebecca.
“Foul craven!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “does he
lench from the helm when the wind blows highest?”
| “He blenches not! he blenches not!” said Re-
ecca, “I see him now; he leads a body of men close
mder the outer barrier of the barbican. They pull
own the piles and palisades; they hew down the
>arriers with axes. — His high black plume floats
broad over the throng, like a raven over the field
•f the slain. — They have made a breach in the bar¬
kers — they rush in — they are thrust back! — Front-
le-Boeuf heads the defenders ; I see his gigantic
orm above the press. They throng again to the
•reach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and
nan to man. God of Jacob ! it is the meeting of
wo fierce tides — the conflict of two oceans moved by
dverse winds.”
' She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable
onger to endure a sight so terrible.
“Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mis-
aking the cause of her retiring; “the archery must
n some degree have ceased, since they are now fight-
388
IVANHOE
ing hand to hand. — Look again, there is now less
danger.”
Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immedi¬
ately exclaimed, “Holy prophets of the law! Front-
de-Bceuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand or
the breach, amid the road of their followers, whc
watch the progress of the strife — Heaven strike with
the cause of the oppressed and of the captive!’1
She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, “He
is down! — he is down!”
“Who is down?” cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear
Lady’s sake, tell me which has fallen?”
“The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly;
then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness —
“But no — but no! - the name of the Lord of Hosts
be blessed ! — he is on foot again, and fights as if there
were twenty men’s strength in his single arm. — His
sword is broken — he snatches an ax from a yeoman
— he presses Front-de-Bceuf with blow on blow. —
The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the
steel of the woodman — he falls — he falls!”
“Front-de-Boeuf ?” exclaimed Ivanhoe.
“Front-de-Bceuf!” answered the Jewess; “his
men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Tem¬
plar — their united force compels the champion to
pause — they drag Front-de-Bceuf within the walls.”
“The assailants have won the barriers, have they
not?” said Ivanhoe.
“They have — they have!” exclaimed Rebecca —
“and they press the besieged hard upon the outer
wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and
endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other
— down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon
their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded to
the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault.
— Great God ! hast thou given men thine own image,
IVANHOE
389
;hat it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of
:heir brethren!”
“Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “this is no
time for such thoughts. — Who yield? — who push
their way?”
“The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca,
shuddering; “the soldiers lie groveling under them
like crushed reptiles. — The besieged have the bet¬
ter.”
“Saint George strike for us!” exclaimed the
knight; “do the false yeomen give way?”
“No!” exclaimed Rebecca, “they bear them¬
selves right yeomanly— the Black Knight approaches
the postern with his huge ax — the thundering blows
which he deals, you may hear them above all the din
and shouts of the battle. — Stones and beams are
hailed down on the bold champion — he regards them
no more than if they were thistledown or feathers!”
“By Saint John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising
himself joyfully on his couch, “methought there
was but one man in England that might do such a
deed !”
“The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca;
“it crashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush
in — the outwork is won — Oh, God! — they hurl the
defenders from the battlements— they throw them
into the moat — 0 men, if ye be indeed men, spare
them that can resist no longer!”
“The bridge — the bridge which communicates
Question : Why is this chapter known as one of the
most famous in English fiction?
Question : Would it be more interesting if the seige
were described from without?
Question: Does Ivanhoe suspect who the Black Knight
is?
390
Ivan hoe
with the castle — have they won that pass?” exclaimed
Ivanhoe.
“No,” replied Rebecca, “the Templar has de¬
stroyed the plank on which they crossed — few of the
defenders escaped with him into the castle — the
shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the
others — Alas! — I see it is still more difficult to look
upon victory than upon battle.”
“What do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe;
“look forth yet again — this is no time to faint at
bloodshed.”
“It is over for the time,” answered Rebecca; “our
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork
which they have mastered, and it affords them so
good a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the gar¬
rison only bestow a few bolts on it from interval to
interval, as if rather to disquiet than effectually to
injure them.”
“Our friends,” said Wilfred, “will surely not
abandon an enterprise so gloriously begun and so
happily attained. — O no! I will put my faith in the
good knight whose ax hath rent heart-of-oak and bars
of iron. — Singular,” he again muttered to himself,
“if there be two who can do a deed of such derring-
do! — a fetterlock, and a shackelbolt on a field sable —
what may that mean? — seest thou naught else, Re¬
becca, by which the Black Knight may be distin¬
guished?”
“Nothing,” said the Jewess; “all about him is
black as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I
spy that can mark him further — but having once
seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks
I could know him again among a thousand warriors.
He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to a
banquet. There is more than mere strength, there
seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion
IVANHOE
391
■vere given to every blow which he deals upon his
enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin of bloodshed!
—it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the
irm and heart of one man can triumph over hun-
ireds.”
‘‘Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “thou hast painted a
hero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or
to provide the means of crossing the moat. Under
such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be,
there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no
yielding up a gallant emprize; since the difficulties
which render it arduous render it also glorious. I
swear by the honor of my house — I vow by the name
Df my bright lady-love, I would endure ten years’
captivity to fight one day by that good knight’s side
in such a quarrel as this!”
“Alas!” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the
window, and approaching the couch of the wounded
knight, “this impatient yearning after action — this
struggling with and repining at your present weak¬
ness, will not fail to injure your returning health.
How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others,
ere that be healed which thou thyself -hast received!”
“Rebecca,” he replied, “thou knowest not how
impossible it is for one trained to actions of chivalry
to remain passive as a priest, or a woman, when
they are acting deeds of honor around him. The
love of battle is the food upon which we live — the
lust of the melee is the breath of our nostrils! We
live not — we wish not to live— longer than while we
are victorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are the
laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which
we offer all that we hold dear.”
“Alas!” said the fair Jewess, “and what is it,
Question : Why does Scott not let the Black Ivniglit
and Ivanhoe fight side by side in this contest?
392
IVANHOE
valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a
demon of vain glory, and a passing through the fire
to Moloch!1 — What remains to you as the prize of all
the blood you have spilled — of all the travail and
pain you have endured — of all the tears which your
deeds have caused, when death hath broken the strong
man’s spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-
horse?”
“What remains?” cried Ivanhoe. “Glory, maiden,
glory! which gilds our sepulcher and embalms our
name.”
“Glory?” continued Rebecca; “alas, is the rusted
mail which hangs as a hatchment over the cham¬
pion’s dim and moldering tomb — is the defaced
sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk
can hardly read to the inquiring pilgrim — are these
sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly
affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make
others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the
rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love,
kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly
bartered, to become the hero of those ballads which
vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their
evening ale?”
“By the soul of Hereward!”2 replied the knight
impatiently, “thou speakest, maiden, of thou know-
est not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light
of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from
the base, the gentle knight from the churl and the
savage; which rates our life far, far beneath the pitch
of our honor; raises us victorious over pain, toil, and
suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace.
Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are un-
1A fire-god worshipped by human sacrifices by the Am¬
monites.
2A traditional outlaw.
Ivan hoe
393
known those high feelings which swell the bosom of
a noble maiden when her lover hath done some deed
of emprize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! —
why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affec¬
tion — the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of
grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant.
Nobility were but an empty name without her, and
liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her
sword.”
“I am, indeed,” said Rebecca, “sprung from a race
whose courage was distinguished in the defense of
their own land, but who warred not, even while yet a
nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in
defending their country from oppression. The sound
of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, and her de¬
spised children are now but the unresisting victims
of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou
spoken, Sir Knight, — until the God of Jacob shall
raise up for his chosen people a second Gideon,1 or a
new Maccabeus,2 it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel
to speak of battle or of war.”
The high-minded maiden concluded the argument
in a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense
of the degradation of her people, embittered perhaps
by the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one, not
entitled to interfere in a case of honor, and incapable
of entertaining or expressing sentiments of honor and
generosity.
“How little he knows this bosom, she said, to
imagine that cowardice or meanness of soul must
needs be its guests, because I have censured the fan¬
tastic chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would to heaven
J uuge vn.
2Meaning Judas Mlaccabeus, a Jewish leader who with
his family fought for the delivery of Judea from the
Syrians.
394
IVANHOE
that the shedding of mine own blood, drop by drop,
could redeem the captivity of Judah! Nay, would
to God it could avail to set free my father, and this
his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor !
The proud Christian should then see whether the
daughter of God’s chosen people dared not to die as
bravely as the vainest Nazarene maiden, that boasts
her descent from some petty chieftain of the rude
and frozen north!”
She then looked towards the couch of the wounded
knight.
“He sleeps,” she said; “nature exhausted by suf¬
ferance and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame
embraces the first moment of temporary relaxation
to sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime that I
should look upon him, when it may be for the last
time? — When yet but a short space, and those fair
features will be no longer animated by the bold and
buoyant spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep!
— When the nostril shall be distended, the mouth
agape, the eyes fixed and bloodshot; and when the
proud and noble knight may be trodden on by the
lowest caitiff of this accursed castle, yet stir not
when the heel is lifted up against him! And my
father! — oh, my father! even it is with his daughter,
when his gray hairs are not remembered because of
the golden locks of youth! — What know I but that
these evils are the messengers of Jehovah’s wrath to
the unnatural child, who thinks of a stranger’s cap¬
tivity before a parent’s? who forgets the desolation
of Judah, and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile
and a stranger? — But I will tear this folly from my
heart, though every fiber bleed as I rend it away!”
She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat
down at a distance from the couch of the wounded
knight, with her back turned towards it, fortifying,
IVANHOE
395
or endeavoring to fortify her mind, not only against
the impending evils from without, but also against
those treacherous feelings which assailed her from
within.
CHAPTER XXX
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed.
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost,
Which, as the lark arises to the sky,
’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew,
Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears ! —
Anselm parts otherwise.
Old Play.
During the interval of quiet which followed the
first success of the besiegers, while the one party
was preparing to pursue their advantage, and the
other to strengthen their means of defense, the Tem¬
plar and De Bracy held brief counsel together in the
hall of the castle.
“Where is Front-de-Boeuf ?” said the latter, who
had superintended the defense of the fortress on the
other side; “men say he hath been slain.”
“He lives,” \said the Templar, coolly, “lives as
yet; but had he worn the bull’s head of which he
bears the name, and ten plates of iron to fence it
withal, he must have gone down before yonder fatal
ax. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-Bceuf is with
his fathers — a powerful limb lopped off Prince John’s
enterprise.”
“And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,”
said De Bracy; “this comes of reviling saints and
angels, and ordering images of holy things and holy
men to be flung down on the heads of these rascaille
yeomen.”
“Go to — thou art a fool,” said the Templar; “thy
superstition is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf’s
want of faith ; neither of you can render a reason for
your belief or unbelief.”
Question: Does Ivauhoe suspect that Rebecca loves
him?
IVANH0E
397
“Benedicite,1 Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, “I
pray you to keep better rule with your tongue when
I am the theme of it. By the Mother of Heaven, I
am a better Christian man than thou and thy fellow¬
ship ; for the bruit 2 goeth shrewdly out, that the most
holy Order of the Temple of Zion nurseth not a few
heretics within its bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois-
Guilbert is of the number.”
“Care not thou for such reports,” said the Tem¬
plar; “but let us think of making good the cas¬
tle. — How fought these villain yeomen on thy side?”
“Like fiends incarnate,” said De Bracy. “They
swarmed close up to the walls, headed, as I think,
by the knave who won the prize at the archery, for
I knew his horn and baldric. And this is old Fitzurse’s
boasted policy, encouraging these malapert knaves to
rebel against us! Had I not been armed in proof, the
villain had marked me down seven times with as
little remorse as if I had been a buck in season. He
tore every rivet on my armor with a cloth-yard shaft,
that rapped against my ribs with as little compunc¬
tion as if my bones had been of iron. But that I
wore a shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat, I
had been fairly sped.”
“But you maintained your post?” said the Templar.
“We lost the outwork on our part.”
“That is a shrewd loss,” said De Bracy; “the
knaves will find cover there to assault the castle more
closely, and may, if not well watched, gain some un¬
guarded corner of a tower, or some forgotten win¬
dow, and so break in upon us. Our members are
too few for the defense of every point, and the men
complain that they can nowhere show themselves, but
they are the mark for as many arrows as a parish-
JBless you.
2Report.
398
Ivan hoe
butt on a holyday even, Front-de-Boeuf is dying too,
so we shall receive no more aid from his bull’s head
and brutal strength. How think you, Sir Brian,
were we not better make a virtue of necessity, and
compound with the rogues by delivering up our
prisoners?”
‘‘How?” exclaimed the Templar; “deliver up our
prisoners, and stand an object alike of ridicule and
execration, as the doughty warriors who dared by a
night-attack to possess themselves of the persons of
a party of defenseless travelers, yet could not make
good a strong castle against a vagabond troop of out¬
laws, led by swineherds, jesters, and the very refuse
of mankind? — Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de
Bracy ! — The ruins of this castle shall bury both my
body and my shame, ere I consent to such base and
dishonorable composition.”
“Let us to the walls, then,” said De Bracy, care¬
lessly; “that man never breathed, be he Turk or
Templar, who held life at lighter rate than I do.
But I trust there is no dishonor in wishing I had here
some two scores of my gallant troop of Free Com¬
panions? — Oh, my brave lances! if ye knew but how
hard your captain were this day bested, how soon
should I see my banner at the head of your clump
of spears!. And how short while would these rab¬
ble villains stand to endure your encounter!”
“Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar,
“but let us make what defense we can with the sol¬
diers who remain. They are chiefly Front-de-Bceuf’s
followers, hated by the English for a thousand acts
of insolence and oppression.”
“The better,” said De Bracy; “the rugged slaves
will defend themselves to the last drop of their blood,
ere they encounter the revenge of the peasants with¬
out. Let us up and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-
IVANHOE
399
Guilbert; and, liv§ or die, thou shalt see Maurice
De Bracy bear himself this day as a gentleman of
blood and lineage.”
“To the walls !” answered the Templar; and they
both ascended the battlements to do all that skill
could dictate, and manhood accomplish, in defense
of the place. They readily agreed that the point of
greatest danger was that opposite to the outwork of
which the assailants had possessed themselves. The
castle, indeed, was divided from the barbican by the
moat, and it was impossible that the besiegers could
assail the postern-door, with which the outwork cor¬
responded, without surmounting that obstacle ; but
it was the opinion both of the Templar and De Bracy,
that the besiegers, if governed by the same policy
their leader had already displayed, would endeavor,
by a formidable assault, to draw the chief part of the
defenders’ observation to this point, and take measures
to avail themselves of every negligence which might
take place in the defense elsewhere. To guard against
such an evil, their numbers only permitted the knight
to place sentinels from space to space along the wails
in communication with each other, who might give
the alarm whenever danger was threatened. Mean¬
while, they agreed that De Bracy should command
the defense at the postern, and the Templar should
keep with him a score of men or thereabouts as a body
of reserve, ready to hasten to any other point which
might be suddenly threatened. The loss of the bar¬
bican had also this unfortunate effect, that, notwith¬
standing the superior height of the castle walls, the
besieged could not see from them, with the same
precision as before, the operations of the enemy; for
some straggling underwood approached so near the
sallyport of the outwork, that the assailants might
introduce into it whatever force they thought proper,
400
IVANHOE
not only under cover, but even without the knowl¬
edge of the defenders. Utterly uncertain therefore,
upon what point the storm was to burst, De Bracy
and his companion were under the necessity of pro¬
viding against every possible contingency, and their
followers, however brave, experienced the anxious de¬
jection of mind incident to men inclosed by enemies,
who possessed the power of choosing their time and
mode of attack.
Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and en¬
dangered castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and
mental agony. He had not the usual resource of
bigots in that superstitious period, most of whom
were wont to atone for the crimes they were guilty
of by liberality to the church, stupefying by this
means their terrors by the idea of atonement and for¬
giveness; and although the refuge which success thus
purchased, was no more like to the peace of mind
which follows on sincere repentance, than the turbid
stupefaction procured by opium resembles healthy
and natural slumbers, it was still a state of mind
preferable to the agonies of awakened remorse. But
among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, a hard and grip¬
ing man, avarice was predominant; and he preferred
setting church and churchmen at defiance, to pur¬
chasing from them pardon and absolution at the price
of treasure and of manors. Nor did the Templar, an
infidel of another stamp, justly characterize his asso¬
ciate, when he said Front-de-Bceuf could assign no
cause for his unbelief and contempt for the estab¬
lished faith; for the Baron would have alleged that
the Church sold her wares too dear, that the spiritual
freedom which she put up to sale was only to be
bought like that of the chief captain of Jerusalem,
“with a great sum,”1 and Front-de-Boeuf preferred
1Acts XXII, 28,
IVANHOE
401
denying the virtue of the medicine, to paying the
ixpense of the physician.
But the moment had now arrived when earth and
111 his treasures were gliding from before his eyes,
md when the savage Baron's heart, though hard as
a nether millstone, became appalled as he gazed for¬
ward into the waste darkness of futurity. The fever
)f his body aided the impatience and agony of his
nind, and his death-bed exhibited a mixture of the
lewly awakened feelings of horror, combatting with
:he fixed and inveterate obstinacy of his disposition;
— a fearful state of mind, only to be equalled in
those tremendous regions, where there are complaints
without hope, remorse without repentance, a dread¬
ful sense of present agony, and a presentiment that
it cannot cease or be diminished!
“Where be these dog-priests now," growled the
Baron, “who set such price on their ghostly mum¬
mery? — where be all those unshod Carmelites, for
whom old Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of St.
Anne, robbing his heir of many a fair rood of
meadow, and many a fat field and close — where be
the greedy hounds now? — Swilling, I warrant me,
at the ale, or playing their juggling tricks at the bed¬
side of some miserly churl. — Me, the heir of their
founder — me, whom their foundation binds them to
pray for — me — ungrateful villains as they are!
they suffer to die like the houseless dog on yonder
common, unshriven and unhoused! — Tell the Temp¬
lar to come hither— he is a priest, and may do
something. But no! — as well confess myself to the
devil as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who recks neither
of heaven nor of hell. — I have heard old men talk
of prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not
to court or to bribe the false priest. But I I dare
not!"
402
IVANHOE
“Lives Reginald Front-de-Bceuf,” said a broker
and shrill voice close by his bedside, “to say then
is that which he dares not!”
The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-
de-Bceuf heard, in this strange interruption to his
soliloquy, the voice of one of those demons, who, as
the superstition of the times believed, beset the beds
of dying men, to distract their thoughts, and turr
them from the meditations which concerned theii
eternal welfare. He shuddered and drew himself to¬
gether; but, instantly summoning up his wonted reso¬
lution, he exclaimed, “Who is there?— what art thou:
that darest to echo my words in a tone like that of the
night-raven? — Come before my couch that I may
see thee.”
“I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Bceuf,’
replied the voice.
“Let me behold thee, then, in they bodily 3hape, ij
thou be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight;
“think not that I will blench from thee. — By the
eternal dungeon, could I but grapple with these hor¬
rors that hover round me, as I have done with mortal
dangers, heaven or hell should never say that 1
shrunk from the conflict!”
“Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Bceuf,’
said the almost unearthly voice, “on rebellion, on
rapine, on murder! — Who stirred up the licentious
John to war against his gray-headed father — against
his generous brother?”
“Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de-
Bceuf, “thou liest in thy throat! — Not I stirred John
to rebellion — not I alone — there were fifty knights
and barons, the flower of the midland counties — bet¬
ter men never laid lance in rest. — And must I answer
for the fault done by fifty? — False fiend, I defy thee!
Depart, and haunt my couch no more — let me die in
IVANHOE
403
beace if thou be mortal — if thou be a demon, thy time
s not yet come.”
“In peace thou shalt NOT die,” repeated the voice;
‘even in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on
:he groans which this castle has echoed — on the
alood that is engrained in its floors!”
“Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice.”
answered Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and con¬
strained laugh. ‘‘The infidel Jew — it was merit with
heaven to deal with him as I did, else wherefore are
men canonized who dip their hands in the blood of
Saracens? — the Saxon porkers, whom I have slain,
ithey were the foes of my country, and of my lineage,
and of my liege lord. — Ho! ho! thou seest there is
no crevice in my coat of plate. — Art thou fled? — art
thou silenced?”
“No, foul parricide!” replied the voice; “think of
thy father! — think of his death!— think of his ban¬
quet-room flooded with his gore, and that poured
forth by the hand of a son!”
“Ha!” answered the Baron, after a long pause, “an
thou knowest that, thou art indeed the author of evil,
and as omniscient as the monks call thee! — That se¬
cret I deemed locked in my own breast, and in that
of one besides — the temptress, the partaker of my
guilt. — Go, leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch
Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what she and I alone
witnessed— Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds,
and straightened the corpse, and gave to the slain
man the outward show of one parted in time and in
the course of nature— Go to her; she was my temp¬
tress, the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder, of
the deed — let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures
which anticipate hell!”
“She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping
before the couch of Front-de-Boeuf; “she hath long
404
Ivan hoe
drunken of this cup, and its bitterness is now sweet¬
ened to see that thou dost partake it. — Grind not thy
teeth, Front-de-Bceuf — roll not thine eyes — clench not
thy hand, nor shake it at me with that gesture of
menace! — The hand which, like that of thy renowned
ancestor who gained thy name, could have broken
with one stroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is now
unnerved and powerless as mine own!”
“Vile murderous hag!” replied Front-de-Boeuf ;
“detestable screech-owl! it is then thou who art come
to exult over the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low?”
“Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “it
is Ulrica! — it is the daughter of the murdered Tor-
quil Wolfganger! — it is the sister of his slaughtered
sons! — it is she who demands of thee, and of thy
father’s house, father and kindred, name and fame —
all that she has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf !
— Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer
me if I speak not truth. Thou hast been my evil
angel, and I will be thine — I will dog thee till the very
instant of dissolution!”
“Detestable fury!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “that
moment shalt thou never witness — Ho! Giles, Clem¬
ent, and Eustace! St. Maur, and Stephen; seize this
damned witch, and hurl her from the battlements,
headlong — she has betrayed us to the Saxon! Ho!
St. Maur! Clement! false-hearted knaves, where tarry
ye?”
“Call on them again, valiant Baron,” said the hag,
with a smile of grisly mockery; “summon thy vas¬
sals around thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge
and the dungeon — but know, mighty chief,” she con¬
tinued, suddenly changing her tone, “thou shalt have
neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands.
Listen to these horrid sounds,” for the din of the re¬
commenced assault and defense now rung fearfully
IVANHOE
405
|
oud from the battlements of the castle; “in that
war-cry is the downfall of thy house — the blood-
cemented fabric of Front-de-Boeuf’s power totters to
;he foundation, and before the foes he most despised!
—The Saxon, Reginald! — the scorned Saxon assails
;hy walls ! — Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind,
when the Saxon storms thy place of strength?”
“Gods and fiends!” exclaimed the wounded knight;”
0, for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the
melee and perish as becomes my name!”
“Think not of it, valiant warrior!” replied she;
“thou shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like
the fox in his den, when the peasants have set fire
to the cover around it.”
“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de-
Boeuf ; “my followers bear them bravely — my walls
are strong and high — my comrades in arms fear not
a whole host of Saxons, were they headed by Hen-
gist and Horsa! — the war-cry of the Templar and of
the Free Companions rises high over the conflict! And
by mine honor, when we kindle the blazing beacon,
for joy of our defense, it shall consume thee, body
and bones; and I shall live to hear thou art gone
from earthly fires to those of that hell, which never
sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly dia¬
bolical !”
“Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “till the proof
reach thee.— But, no!” she said interrupting her¬
self, “thou shalt know, even now, the doom, which
all thy power, strength, and courage is unable to
avoid, though it is prepared for thee by this feeble
hand. Markest thou the smoldering and suffocating
7apor which already eddies in sable folds through
the chamber?— Didst thou think it was but the dark¬
ening of thy bursting eyes — the difficulty of thy
cumbered breathing? No! Front-de-Boeuf, there is
406
Ivan hoe
another cause. — Rememberest thou the magazine of
fuel that is stored beneath these apartments?”
“Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “thou hast not
set fire to it? — By heaven, thou hast, and the castle
is in flames!”
“They are fast rising, at least,” said Ulrica, with
frightful composure; “and a signal shall soon wave
to warn the besiegers to press hard upon those who
would extinguish them. — Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf !
— Miay Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the
ancient Saxons — fiends, as the priests now call them
— supply the place of comforters at your dying bed,
which Ulrica now relinquishes ! — But know, if it
will give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is
bound to the same dark coast with thyself, the
companion of thy punishment as the companion of
thy guilt. — And now, parricide, farewell forever! —
May each stone of this vaulted roof find a tongue to
echo that title into thine ear!”
So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-
Boeuf could hear the crash of the ponderous key, as
she locked and double-locked the door behind her,
thus cutting off the most slender chance of escape.
In the extremity of agony he shouted upon his ser¬
vants and allies — “Stephen and St. Maur! — Clement
and Giles — I burn here unaided! — To the rescue —
to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy!
— It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls! — It is your master,
ye traitor squires ! — Your ally — your brother in arms,
ye perjured and faithless knights! — all the curses
due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you
abandon me to perish thus miserably! — They near
Question: What did Ulrica do to aid the Saxons?
Question : Why could Front-de-Bceuf. not get out of his
room?
IVANHOE
407
;ie not — they cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the
iin of battle. — The smoke rolls thicker and thicker —
he fire has caught upon the floor below — 0, for one
raught of the air of heaven, were it to be purchased
y instant annihilation!” And in the mad frenzy ot
s.espair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of
he fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on man-
:ind, and on Heaven itself— “The red fire flashes
hrough the thick smoke!” he exclaimed; “the demon
narches against me under the banner of his own
slement. — Foul spirit, avoid! — I go not with thee
vithout my comrades — all, all are thine, that gar-
*ison these walls. — Thinkest thou Front-de-Boeuf
vill be singled out to go alone? — No — the infidel
Templar — De Bracy — Ulrica, the men who aided my
Enterprises — the dog Saxons and accursed Jews, who
ire my prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a goodly
fellowship as ever took the downward road. — Ha
aa, ha!” and he laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted
roof rang" again. “Who laughed there?” exclaimed
Front-de-Boeuf, in altered mood, for the noise of
the conflict did not prevent the echoes of his own
mad laughter from returning upon his ear — “who
laughed there? — Ulrica, was it thou? — Speak, witch,
and I forgive thee— for, only thou or the fiend of hell
himself could have laughed at such a moment.
Avaunt — avaunt ! — ”
But it were impious to trace any farther the pic¬
ture of a blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed.
CHAPTER XXXI
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
- — And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture — let us swear
That you are worth your breeding.
King Henry V.
Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica')
message, omitted not to communicate her promise t<
the Black Knight and Locksley. They were wel
pleased to find they had a friend within the place
who might, in the moment of need, be able to facil
itate their entrance, and readily agreed with th<
Saxon that a storm under whatever disadvantages
ought to be attempted, as the only means of lib
erating the prisoners now in the hands of the crue
Front-de-Boeuf.
“The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” sai<
Cedric.
“The honor of a noble lady is in peril,” said th- *
Black Knight.
“And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,” sai<
the good yeoman, “were there no other cause tha1,
the safety of that poor faithful knave, Wamba,
would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his head wer
hurt.”
“And so would I,” said the Friar; “what, sirs!
trust well that a fool — I mean, d'ye see me, sirs,
fool that is free of his guild1 and master of his crafi
and can give as much relish and flavor to a cup o
wine as ever a flitch of bacon can — I say, brethrei
such a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray fo
*A fool enjoying the special privileges granted to a jeste;
IVANHOE
409
or fight for him at a strait, while I can say a mass
or flourish a partisan.”
And with that he made his heavy halberd to play
around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his
light crook.
“True, Holy Clerk,” said the Black Knight, “true
as if St. Dunstan himself had said it. — And now,
good Locksley, were it not well that noble Cedric
should assume the direction of this assault?”
“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “I have never
been wont to study either how to take or how to hold
out those abodes of tyrannic power which the Nor¬
mans have erected in this groaning land. I will
fight among the foremost; but my honest neighbors
well know I am not -a trained soldier in the disci¬
pline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.”
“Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said
Locksley, “I am most willing to take on me the
direction of the archery; and ye shall hang me up on
my own trysting-tree, and the defenders be permitted
to show themselves over the walls without being
stuck with as many shafts as there are clovers in a
gammon of bacon at Christmas.”
“Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black
Knight; “and if I be thought worthy to have a
charge in these matters, and can find among these
brave men as many as arg willing to follow a true
English knight, for so I may surely call myself, I
am ready, with such skill as my experience has
taught me, to lead them to the attack of these walls.”
The parts being thus distributed to the leaders,
they commenced the first assault, of which the read¬
er has already heard the issue.
When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight
sent notice of the happy event to Locksley, request¬
ing him at the same time, to keep such a strict
410
Ivan hoe
observation on the castle as might prevent the de¬
fenders from combining their force for a sudden
sally, and recovering the outwork which they had
lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of avoid¬
ing, conscious that the men whom he led, being hasty
and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and
unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden
attack, fight at great disadvantage with the veteran
soldiers of the Norman knights, who were well pro¬
vided with arms both defensive and offensive; and
who, to match the zeal and high spirit of the be¬
siegers, had all the confidence which arises from
perfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons.
The knight employed the interval in causing to be
constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by
means of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite
of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work
of some time, which the leaders the less regretted, as
it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan of diver¬
sion in their favor, whatever that might be.
When the raft was completed, the Black Knight
addressed the besiegers: — “It avails not waiting
here longer, my friends; the sun is descending to the
west — and I have that upon my hands which will
not permit me to tarry with you another day. Be¬
sides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen come not
upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish
our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley,
and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the
opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if
about to assault it; and you, true English hearts,
stand by me, and be ready to thrust the raft endlong
over the moat whenever the postern on our side is
thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and aid me
to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle.
As many of you as like not this service, or are but
ill armed to meet it, do you man the top of the out-
Ivan hoe
411
vork, draw your bowstrings to your ears, and mind
^ou quell with your shot whatever shall appear to
nan the rampart. — Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the
lirection of those which remain ?”
“Not so, by the soul of Hereward!” said the
Saxon; “lead I cannot; but may posterity curse me
in my grave, if I follow not with the foremost wher¬
ever thou shalt point the way. The quarrel is mine,
and well it becomes me to be in the van of the
battle.”
“Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight,
“thou hast neither hauberk, nor corselet, nor aught
but that light helmet, target, and sword.”
“The better!” answered Cedric; “I shall be the
lighter to climb these walls. And,— forgive the boast,
Sir Knight, — thou shalt this day see the naked
breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle
as ever ye beheld the steel corselet of a Norman.”
“In the name of God, then,” said the knight,
“fling open the door, and launch the floating
bridge.”
The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the
barbican to the moat, and which corresponded with
a sallyport in the main wall of the castle, was now
suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was then
thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, ex¬
tending its length between the castle and outwork,
and forming a slippery and precarious passage for
two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of
the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the
Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw
himself upon the bridge, and reached the opposite
side. Here he began to thunder with his ax upon
the gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot
and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of
the former drawbridge, which the Templar had de¬
molished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving
412
Ivan hoe
the counterpoise1 still attached to the upper part of
the portal. The followers of the knight had no such
shelter; two were instantly shot with crossbow bolts,
and two more fell into the moat; the others retreated
back into the barbican.
The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight
was now truly dangerous, and would have been still
more so, but for the constancy of the archers in the
barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows
upon the battlements, distracting the attention ol‘
those by whom they were manned, and thus affording
a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of mis¬
siles which must otherwise have overwhelmed them.
But their situation was eminently perilous, and was
becoming more so with every moment.
“Shame on ye all!” cried De Bracy to the soldiers
around him; “do ye call yourselves crossbowmen,
and let those two dogs keep their station under the
walls of the castle? — Heave over the coping stones
from the battlement, an better may not be. — Get
pickax and levers, and down with that huge pin¬
nacle!” pointing to a heavy piece of stone carved
work that projected from the parapet.
At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the
red flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica
had described to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley
was the first who was aware of it, as he was hasting
to the outwork, impatient to see the progress of the
assault.
“Saint George!” he cried, “Merry Saint George
for England! — To the charge, bold yeomen! — why
leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm
the pass alone? — make in, mad priest, show thou
canst fight for thy rosary, — make in, brave yeomen!
1The weights balancing the bridge so that it might be
raised or lowered..
IVANHOE
413
— the castle is ours, we have friends within. See
yonder flag; it is the appointed signal — Torquilstone
is lours! — Think of honor, think of spoil !: — One
effort, and the place is ours!”
With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft
right through the breast of one of the men-at-arms,
who, under De Bracy’s direction, was loosening a
fragment from one of the embattlements to pre¬
cipitate on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight.
A second soldier caught from the hands of the dying
man the iron crow, with which he heaved at and
had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an
arrow through his head-piece, he dropped from the
battlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at-
arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof
against the shot of this tremendous archer.
“Do you give ground, base knaves !w said De
Bracy; “Mount joye Saint Dennis!1 — Give me the
lever!”
And, snatching it up, he again assailed the
loosened pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if
thrown down, not only to have destroyed the
remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two
foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude
float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw
the danger, and the boldest, even the stout Friar
himself, avoided setting foot on the raft. Thrice did
Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice
did his arrow bound back from the knight’s armor
of proof.
“Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!” said Locksley,
“had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone
through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.” He
’The battle cry of the French crusaders. Mount Joye
was a height in Paris where, according to tradition, St.
Dennis suffered martyrdom.
414
Ivan hoe
then began to call out, “Comrades! friends! noble
Cedric! bear back, and let the ruin fall.”
His warning voice was unheard, for the din which
the knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon
the postern would have drowned twenty war-trum¬
pets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprung forward
on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his im¬
pending fate, or to share it with him. But his warn¬
ing would have come too late; the massive pinnacle
already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved
at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the
voice of the Templar sounded close in his ears: —
“All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns.”
“Thou art mad to say so!” replied the knight.
“It is all in a light flame on the western side. I
have striven in vain to extinguish it.”
With the stern coolness which formed the basis of
his character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated
this hideous intelligence, which was not so calmly
received by his astonished comrade.
“Saints of Paradise!” said De Bracy; “what is to
be done? I vow to St. Nicholas of Limoges a candle¬
stick of pure gold - ”
“Spare thy vow.” said the Templar, “and mark
me. Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw
the postern gate open — there are but two men who
occupy the float; fling them into the moat, and push
across for the barbican. I will charge from the main
gate, and attack the barbican on the outside; and if
we can regain that post, be assured we shall defend
ourselves until we are relieved, or at last till they
grant us fair quarter.”
“It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy; “I
will play, my part— Templar, thou wilt not fail
me?”
“Hand and glove, I will not!” said Bois-Guilbert.
“But haste thee, in the name of God!”
IVANHOE
415
De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and
rushed down to the postern-gate, which he caused
instantly to be thrown open. But scarce was this
done ere the portentous strength of the Black
Knight forced his way inward in despite of De
Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost in¬
stantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding
all their leader’s efforts to stop them.
“Dogs!” said De Bracy, ‘will ye let two men
win our only pass for safety?”
“He is the devil!” said a veteran man-at-arms,
bearing back from the blows of their sable antag¬
onist.
“And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy,
“would you fly from him into the mouth of hell? —
The castle burns behind us, villains! — let despair
give you courage, or let me forward! I will cope with
this champion myself.”
And well and chivalrously did De Bracy that day
maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars
of that dreadful period The vaulted passage to
which the postern gave entrance, and in which these
two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to
hand, rung with the furious blows which they dealt
each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black
Knight with his ponderous ax. At length the Nor¬
man received a blow, which though its force was
partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never
more would De Bracy have again moved limb, de¬
scended yet with such violence on his crest, that he
measured his length on the paved floor.
“Yield thee, De Bracy ” said the Black Champion,
stooping over him, and holding against the bars of
his helmet the fatal poniard with which the knights
dispatched their enemies, (and which was called the
dagger of mercy), “yield thee, Miaurice de Bracy,
rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man,’*
416
Ivan hoe
“I will not yield/’ replied De Bracy faintly, “to
an unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work
thy pleasure on me — it shall never be said that
Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl.”
The Black Knight whispered something into the
ear of the vanquished.
“I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no
rescue,” answered the Norman, exchanging his tone
of stern and determined obstinacy for one of deep
though sullen submission.
“Go to the barbican,” said the victor, in a tone
of authority, “and there wait my further orders.”
“Yet first, let me say,” said De Bracy, “what it
imports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is
wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in' the burn¬
ing castle without present help.”
“Wilfred of Ivanhoe!” exclaimed the Black
Knight — “prisoner, and perish! — The life of every
man in the castle shall answer it if a hair of his
head be singed. Show me his chamber!”
“Ascend yonder winding stair,” said De Bracy;
“it leads to his apartment. — Wilt thou not accept
my guidance?” he added, in a submissive voice.
“No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders.
I trust thee not, De Bracy.”
During this combat and the brief conversation
which ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men,
among whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed
across the bridge as soon as they saw the postern
open, and drove back the dispirited and despairing
followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quarter,
some offered vain resistance, and the greater part
fled towards the courtyard. De Bracy himself arose
from the ground, and cast a sorrowful glance after
his conqueror. “He trusts me not!” he repeated;
“but have I deserved his trust?” He then lifted his
Ivan hoe
417
sword from the floor, took off his helmet in token of
submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up his
sword to Locksley, whom he met by the way.
As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon
apparent in the chamber where Ivanhoe was watched
and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He had been
awakened from his brief slumber by the noise of the
battle; and his attendant, who had, at his anxious
desire, again placed herself at the window to watch
and report to him the fate of the attack, was for some
time prevented from observing either, by the in¬
crease of the smoldering and stifling vapor. At
length the volumes of smoke which rolled into the
apartment — the cries for water, which were heard
even above the din of the battle, made them sensi¬
ble of the progress of this new danger.
“The castle burns,” said Rebecca; “it burns! —
What can we do to save ourselves?”
“Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,” said
Ivanhoe, “for no human aid can avail me.”
“I will not fly.” answered Rebecca; “we will
be saved or perish together. — And yet, great God ! —
my father, my father — what will be his fate!”
At this moment the door of the apartment flew
open, and the Templar presented himself, — a ghast¬
ly figure, for his gilded armor was broken and
bloody, and the plume was partly shorn away, part¬
ly burnt from his casque. “I have found thee,
said he to Rebecca; “thou shalt prove I will keep my
word to share weal and woe with thee. There is
but one path to safety; I have cut my way through
fifty dangers to point it to thee — up, and instantly
follow me!”1
luThe author has some idea that this passage is imitated
from the appearance of Philidaspes before the divine Man-
dane, when the city of Babylon is on fire, and he proposes
418
Ivan hoe
“Alone,” answered Rebecca, “I will not follow
thee. If thou wert born of woman — if thou hast bul
a touch of human charity in thee — if thy heart b(
not hard as thy breastplate — save my aged father-
save this wounded knight!”
“A knight,” answered the Templar, with his char¬
acteristic calmness, “a knight, Rebecca, must en¬
counter his fate, whether it meet him in the shape
of sword or flame— and who recks how or where
a Jew meets with his?”
“Savage warrior,” said Rebecca, “rather will 1
perish in the flames than accept safety from thee I’1
“Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca — once didst thou
foil me. but never mortal did so twice.”
So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who
filled the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of
the room in his arms in spite of her cries, and with¬
out regarding the menaces and defiance which Ivan-
hoe thundered against him. “Hound of the Temple
— stain to thine Order — set free the damsel! Traitor
of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee! —
Villain, I will have thy heart’s blood!”
“I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black
Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment,
“but for thy shouts.”
“If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, “think
not of me — pursue yon ravisher — save the Lady
Rowena — look to the noble Cedric!”
“In their turn,” answered he of the fetterlock,
“but thine is first.”
And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with
as much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebec-
to carry her from the flames. But the theft, if there be
one, would he rather too severely punished by the penance
of searching for the original passage through the inter¬
minable volumes of the Grand Cyrus.” (Scott’s note).
IVANHOE
419
ca, rushed with him to the postern, and having there
delivered his burden to the care of two yeomen, he
again entered the castle to assist in the rescue of
the other prisoners.
One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed
out furiously from window and shot-hole. But in
other parts, the great thickness of the walls and the
vaulted roofs of the apartments, resisted the prog¬
ress of the flames, and there the rage of man still
triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful element held
mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued the de¬
fenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and
satiated in their blood the vengeance which had long
animated them against the soldiers of the tyrant
Front-de-Bceuf. Most of the garrison resisted to the
uttermost — few of them asked quarter — none re¬
ceived it. The air was filled with groans and clash¬
ing of arms — the floors were slippery with the blood
of despairing and expiring wretches.
Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed
in quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, follow¬
ing him closely through the melee neglected his own
safety while he strove to avert the blows that were
aimed at his master. The noble Saxon was so for¬
tunate as to reach his ward’s apartment just as she
had abandoned all hope of safety, and, with the
crucifix clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in ex¬
pectation of instant death. He committed her to
the charge of Gurth, to be conducted in safety to the
barbican, the road to which was now cleared of the
enemy, and not yet interrupted by the flames. This
accomplished, the loyal Cedric hastened in quest of
his friend Athelstane, determined, at every risk to
himself, to save that last scion of Saxon royalty.
But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in
which he had himself been aprisoner, the inventive
IVANHOE
420
genius of Wamba had procured liberation for him¬
self and his companion in adversity.
When the noise of the conflict announced that it
was at the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with
the utmost power of his lungs, “Saint George and the
dragon! — Bonny Saint George for merry England!
The castle is won!” And these sounds he ren¬
dered yet more fearful, by banging against each oth¬
er two or three pieces of rusty armor which lay
scattered around the hall.
A guard, which had been stationed in the outer,
or anteroom, and whose spirits were already in a
state of alarm, took fright at Wamba’s clamor, and,
leaving the door open behind them, ran to tell the
Templar that foemen had entered the old hall.
Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making
their escape into the anteroom, and from thence into
the court of the castle, which was now the last scene
of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on
horseback, surrounded by several of the garrison
both on horse and foot, who had united their
strength to that of this renowned leader, in order to
secure the last chance of safety and retreat which
remained to them. The drawbridge had been low¬
ered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for
the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed the cas¬
tle on that side by their missiles, no sooner saw the
flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, than
they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent
the escape of the garrison, as to secure their own
share of booty ere the castle should be burnt down.
On the other hand, a party of the besiegers who had
entered by the postern were now issuing out into the
courtyard, and attacking with fury the remnant of
the defenders, who were thus assaulted on both sides
at once.
Animated, however, by despair, and supported by
IVANHOE
421
the example of their indomitable leader, the remain¬
ing soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost
valor; and, being well armed, succeeded more than
ionce in driving back the assailants, though much
inferior in numbers. Rebecca, placed on horseback
before one of the Templar's Saracen slaves, was in
the midst of the little party; and Bois-Guilbert, not¬
withstanding the confusion of the bloody fray,
showed every attention to her safety. Repeatedly he
was by her side, and, neglecting his own defense, held
before her the fence of his triangular steel-plated
shield; and anon starting from his position by her,
he cried his war-cry, dashed forward, struck to
; earth the most forward of the assailants, and was
s on the same instant once more at her bridle rein.
Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was sloth¬
ful, but not cowardly, beheld the female form whom
the Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubted
not that it was Rowena whom the knight was carry¬
ing off, in despite of all resistance which could be
offered.
“By the soul of Saint Edward," he said, “I will
rescue her from yonder over-proud knight, and he
shall die by my hand!"
“Think what you do!" cried Wamba; “hasty hand
! catches frog for fish — by my bauble,1 yonder is none
1 of my Lady Rowena — see but her long dark locks! —
Nay, an ye will not know black from white, ye may
j be leader, but I will be no follower — no bones of
mine shall be broken unless I know for whom.—
And you without armor too ! — Bethink you, silk bon¬
net never kept out steel blade. — Nay, then, if will¬
ful will to water, willful must drench. — Deus vobis-
cum, most doughty Athelstane!" — he concluded,
,
wand symbolic of bis position was carried by the
Jester.
422
IVANHOE
loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon
the Saxon’s tunic.
To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which
it lay beside one whose dying grasp had just relin¬
quished it — to rush on the Templar’s band, and to
strike in quick succession to the right and left, lev¬
eling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane’s
great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but
the work of but a single moment; he was soon with¬
in two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he defied in his
loudest tone.
“Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom
thou art unworthy to touch — turn, limb of a band
of murdering and hypocritical robbers!”
“Dog!” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “I
will teach thee to blaspheme the holy Order of the
Temple of Zion;” and with these words, half¬
wheeling his steed, he made a demi-courbette to¬
wards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as
to take full advantage of the descent of the horse,
he discharged a fearful blow upon the head of Athel-
stane.
“Well,” said Wamba, “that silken bonnet keeps
out no steel blade.” So trenchant was the Templar’s
weapon, that it shore asunder, as it had been a wil¬
low twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace,
which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow,
and, descending on his head, leveled him with the
earth.
“Ha! Beau-seant!” exclaimed B'ois-Guilbert, “thus
be it to the maligners of the Temple-knights!” Tak¬
ing advantage of the dismay which was spread by
the fall of Athelstane, and calling aloud, “Those who
would save themselves, follow me!” he pushed across
the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who would
have intercepted them. He was followed by his Sar¬
acens, and some five or six men-at-arms, who had
IVANHOE
423
nounted their horses. The Templar’s retreat was
rendered perilous by the number of arrows shot off
at him and his party; but this did not prevent him
from galloping round to the barbican, of which, ac¬
cording to his previous plan, he supposed it pos¬
sible De Bracy might have been in possession.
“De Bracy! De Bracy!” he shouted, “art thou
there ?”
“I am here,” replied De Bracy. “but I am a pns-
oner.”
“Can I rescue thee?” cried Bois-Guilbert.
“No,” replied De Bracy; “I have rendered me, res¬
cue or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save
thyself— there are hawks abroad— put the seas be¬
twixt you and England — I dare not say more.
“Well,” answered the Templar, “an thou wilt
tarry there, remember I have redeemed word and
glove. Be the hawks where they will, methinks the
walls of the Preceptory of Templestowe will be cover
sufficient, and thither will I, like heron to her
haunt.”
Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his fol¬
lowers.
Those of the castle, who had not gotten to horse,
still continued to fight desperately with the besieg¬
ers after the departure of the Templar, bpt rather
in despair of quarter than that they entertained any
hope of escape. The fire was spreading rapidly
through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica,, who had
first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of
one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song,
such as was of yore raised on the field of battle by
the scalds of the yet heathen Saxons. Her long dis¬
heveled gray hair flew back from her uncovered
head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance
contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity ; and
she brandished the distaff which she held in her
424
I VAN HOE
hand, as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters
who spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tra¬
dition has preserved some wild strophes of the bar¬
barous hymn1 which she chanted wildly amid that
scene of fire and slaughter: —
l
Whet the bright steel.
Sons of the White Dragon !
Kindle the torch,
Daughter of Hengist!
The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet.
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed;
The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber,
It steams and glitters blue with sulphur.
Whet the steel, the raven croaks!
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling!
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon!
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist !
2
The black cloud is low over the thane's castle ;
The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom.
Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud,
Thy banquet is prepared !
The maidens of Valhalla look fortlp
u‘It will readily occur to the antiquary that these ver¬
ses are intended to imitate the antique poetry of Scalds—
the minstrels of the Scandinavians — the race as the
Laureate so happily terms them.
‘Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure,
Who smiled in death.’
The poety of Anglo-Saxon after their civilization and con¬
version, was of different and softer character; but in the
circumstances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally sup¬
posed to return to the wild strains which animated her
forefathers during the time of Paganism and untamed fero¬
city." (Scott’i note).
IVANHOE
425
fhe race of Hengist will send them guests,
khake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla!
And strike your loud timbrels for joy !
Many a haughty step bends to your halls,
Vlany a helmed head.
3
Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle,
The black clouds gather round;
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant !
The destroyer of the forests shall shake his red crest
against them.
He, the bright consumer of palaces,
Broad waves he his blazing banner,
Red, wThite and dusky,
Over the strife of the valiant:
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers;
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from
the wound !
4
*
All must perish !
The sword cleaveth the helmet ;
The strong armor is pierced by the lance;
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes,
Engines break down the fences of the battle.
All must perish!
The race of Hengist is gone—
The name of Horsa is no more :
Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword.
Let your blades drink blood like wine ;
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter,
By the light of the blazing halls!
Strong be your swords while your blood is warm,
And spare neither for pity nor fear.
For vengeance hath but an hour ;
Strong hate itself shall expire!
I also must perish !
The towering flames had now surmounted every
426
IVANHOE
obstruction, and rose to the evening skies one huge
and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the
adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed down,
with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatants
were driven from the courtyard. The vanquished,
of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped
into the neighboring wood. The victors, assembling
in large bands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed
with fear, upon the flames, in which their own ranks
and arms glanced dusky red. The maniac figure of
the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible on the
lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad
with wild exultation, as if she reigned empress of the
conflagration which she had raised. At length, with
a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she
perished in the flames which had consumed her ty¬
rant. An awful pause of horror silenced each mur¬
mur of the armed spectators, who, for the space of
several^ minutes, stirred not a finger, save to sign
the cross. The voice of Locksley was then heard,
“Shout, yeomen! — the den of tyrants is no morel
Let each bring his spoil to our chosen place of
rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in the Harthill Walk;
for there at break of day will we make just partition
among our own bands, together with our worthy
allies in this great deed of vengeance/’
CHAPTER XXXII
Trust me each state must have its policies:
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters :
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk,
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline;
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron,
Hath man with man in social union dwelt,
But laws were made to draw that union closer.
Old Play.
The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the
oak forest. The green boughs glittered with all their
pearls of dew. The hind led her fawn from the co¬
vert of high fern to the more open walks of the
green-wood, and no huntsman was there to watch or
intercept the stately hart, as he paced at the head
of the antlered herd.
The outlaws were all assembled around the Tryst-
ing-tree in the Harthill Walk, where they had spent
the night in refreshing themselves after the fatigues
of the siege, some with wine, some with slumber,
many with hearing and recounting the events of fh
day, and computing the heaps of plunder which their
success had placed at the disposal of their Chief.
The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwith¬
standing that much was consumed, a great deal of
plate, rich armor, and splendid clothing, had been
secured by the exertions of the dauntleis outlaws,
who could be appalled by no danger when such re¬
wards were in view. Yet so strict were the laws of
their society, that no one ventured to appropriate
any part of the booty, which was brought into one
common mass, to be at the disposal of their leader.
Question :
Question :
a climax?
How did Ulrica perish?
Of what part of the story is this past chapter
428
IVANHOE
The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not
however the same to which Locksley had conducted
Gurth and Wamba in the earlier part of the story,
but one which was the center of a silvan amphi¬
theater, within half a mile of the demolisned castle
of Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed his seat — a
throne of turf erected under the twisted branches or
the huge oak, and the silvan followers were gathered
around him. He assigned to the Black Knight a
seat at his right hand, and to Cedric a place upon
his left.
“Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,” he said, “but
in these glades I am monarch— they are my king¬
dom, and these my wild subjects would reck but lit¬
tle of my power, were I, within my own dominions,
to yield place to mortal man.— Now, sirs, who hath
seen our chaplain? where is our curtal Friar? A
mass amongst Christian men best begins a busy
morning. No one had seen the Clerk of Copma11 •
hurst. “Over God’s forbode!” said the outlaw chief,
“I trust the jolly priest hath but abidden by the
winepot a thought too late. Who saw him since the
castle was ta’en?”
I, quoth the Miller, “marked him busy about
the door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the
calendar he would taste the smack or Front-de
Bceuf’s Gascoigne wine.”
“Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,”
said the Captain, “forefend, lest he has drunk too
deep of the wine-butts, and perished by the fall of
the castle !— Away, Miller!— take with you enow of
men, seek the place where you last saw him— throw
water from the moat on the scorching ruins — I will
have them removed stone by stone ere I lose mv cur¬
tal Friar.”
The numbers who hastened to execute this duty.
IVANHOE
429
considering that an interesting division of spoil was
about to take place, showed how much the troop had
at heart the safety of their spiritual father.
“Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley; “for
when this bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the
bands of De Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of
Front-de-Bceuf, will be in motion against us and it
were well for our safety that we retreat from the
vicinity— Noble Cedric,” he said, turning to the
Saxon, “that spoil is divided into two portions; do
thou make choice of that which best suits thee, to
recompense thy people who were partakers with us
in this adventure.”
“Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “my heart is op¬
pressed with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Con-
ingsburgh is no more — the last sprout of the sainted
I Confessor! Hopes have perished with him which
can never return! — A sparkle hath been quenched
by his blood, which no human breath can again re-
| kindle! My people, save the few who are now with
me, do but tarry my presence to transport his hon¬
ored remains to their last mansion. The Lady Kow-
ena is desirous to return to Rotherhood, and must
be escorted by a sufficient force. I should, therefore,
ere now, have left this place; and I waited — not to
share the booty, for, so help me God and Saint
Withold ! as neither I nor any of mine will touch the
value of a liard, — I waited but to render my thanks
to thee and to thy bold yeomen, for the life and honor
ye have saved.”
“Nay, but,” said the chief Outlaw, “we did but
half the work at most — take of the spoil what may
reward your own neighbors and followers.”
“I am rich enough to reward them from mine own
wealth,” answered Cedric.
“And some,” said Wamba, “have been wise enough
to reward themselves ; they do not march off empty-
430
Ivan hoe
handed altogether. We do not all wear motley.”
“They are welcome/’ said Locksley; “our laws
bind none but ourselves.”
“But, thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning
about and embracing his Jester, “how shall I reward
thee, who feared not to give thy body to chains and
death instead of mine! — All forsook me, when the
poor fool was faithful!”
A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he
spoke — a mark of feeling which even the death of
Athelstane had not extracted ; but there was some¬
thing in the half-instinctive attachment of his clown,
that waked his nature more keenly than even grief
itself.
“Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from
his master’s caress, “if you pay my service with the
water of your eye, the Jester must weep for com¬
pany, and then what becomes of his vocation? —
But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, I
pray you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stole
a week from your service to bestow it on your son.”
“Pardon him!” exclaimed Cedric; “I will both
pardon and reward him.— Kneel down, Gurth.”—
The swineherd was in an instant at his master’s
feet — “Theow and Esne1 art thou no longer,” said
Cedric, touching him with a wand; “Folkfree2 and
Sacless art thou in town and from town, in the
forest as in the field. A hide of land I give to thee
in my steads of Walbrugham, from me and mine to
thee and thine aye and for ever; and God’s malison
on his head who this gainsays!”
No longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder,
Gurth sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft
to almost his own height from the ground.
3“Thrall and bondsmen.” Scott,
2<<A lawful freeman.” Scott.
IVANHOE
431
“A smith and a file,” he cried, “to do away the
collar from the neck of a freeman! — noble master!
doubled is my strength by your gift, and doubly will
I fight for you! — There is a free spirit in my breast
— I am a man changed to myself and all around. —
Ha, Fangs!” he continued, — for that faithful cur,
seeing his master thus transported, began to jump
upon him, to express his sympathy, — “knowest thou
thy master still?”
“Ay,” said Wamba, “Fangs and I still know thee,
Gurth, though we must needs abide by the collar;
it is only thou art likely to forget both us and thy¬
self.”
“I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee,
true comrade,” said Gurth; “and were freedom fit
for thee, Wamba, the master would not let thee
want it.”
“Nay,” said Wamba, “never think I envy thee,
brother Gurth; the serf sits by the hall-fire when
the freeman must forth to the field of battle. And
what with Oldhelm1 of Malmsbury. — Better a fool at
a feast than a wise man at a fray.”
The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady
Rowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and
a much stronger party of footmen, who joyfully
shook their pikes and clashed their brown-bills for
joy of her freedom. She herself, richly attired, and
mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered
all the dignity of her manner, and only an unwonted
degree of paleness showed the sufferings she had un¬
dergone. Her lovely brow, though sorrowful, bore
on it a cast of reviving hope for the future, as well
as of grateful thankfulness for the past deliverance.
She knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew that
Athlestane was dead. The former assurance filled
*A monk and a scholar of the seventh century.
432
IVANHOE
her with the most sincere delight; and if she did not
absolutely rejoice at the latter, she might be par¬
doned for feeling the full advantage of being freed
from further persecution on the only subject in
which she had ever been contradicted by her guard¬
ian Cedric.
As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’ s seat,
that bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to re¬
ceive her, as if by a general instinct of courtesy.
The blood rose to her cheeks, as, courteously waving
her hand, and bending so low that her beautiful and
loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the
flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few
but apt words her obligations and her gratitude to
Locksley and her other deliverers. — “God bless you,
brave men,” she concluded, “God and Our Lady bless
you and requite you for gallantry periling your¬
selves in the cause of the oppressed! — If any of you
should hunger, remember Rowena has food — if you
should thirst, she has many a butt of wine and
brown ale — and if the Normans drive ye from these
walks, Rowena has forests of her own, where her
gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, and
never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck down
the deer.”
“Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley; “thanks
from my company and myself. But, to have saved
you requites itself. We who walk the greenwood do
many a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena’s deliver¬
ance may be received as an atonement.”
Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to
depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who
was to attend her, was also taking his leave, she
found herself unexpectedly close by the prisoner
De Bracy. He stood under a tree in deep medita¬
tion, his arms crossed upon his breast, and Rowena
was in hopes she might pass him unobserved. He
IVANHOE
433
j looked up, however, and, when aware of her pres¬
ence, a deep hush of shame suffused his handsome
countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute;
then, stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein,
and bent his knee before her.
“Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye on
a captive knight — on a dishonored soldier?”
“Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “in enterprises
I such as yours, the real dishonor lies not in failure,
but in success.”
“Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” an¬
swered De Bracy; “let me but know that the Lady
Rowena forgives the violence occasioned by an ill-
fated passion, and she will .soon learn that De Bracy
knows how to serve her in nobler ways.”
“I forgive you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “as
; a Christian.” *
“That means,” said Wamba, “that she does not
; forgive him at all.”
“But I can never forgive the misery and desola¬
tion your madness has occasioned,” continued
Rowena.
“Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said
Cedric coming up. “By the bright sun above us,
but it were shame I would pin thee to the earth with
my javelin — but be you assured thou shalt smart,
Maurice De Bracy, for thy share in this foul deed.”
“He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,”
said De Bracy; “but when had a Saxon any touch
of courtesy?”
Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted
the lady to move on.
Cedric ere they departed, expressed his peculiar
gratitude to the Black Champion, and earnestly en¬
treated him to accompany him to Rotherwood.
“I know,” *he said, “that ye arrant knights de¬
sire to carry your fortunes on the point of your
434
Ivan hoe
lance, and reck not of land or goods; but war is a
changeful mistress, and a home is sometimes desir¬
able even to the champion whose trade is wandering.
Thou hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood,
noble knight. Cedric has wealth enough to repair
the injuries of fortune, and all he has is his deliv¬
erer’s. Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as a
guest, but as a son or brother.”
“Cedric has already made me rich,” said the
Knight, — “he has taught me the value of Saxon
virtue. To Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon,
and that speedily; but, as now, pressing matters of
moment detain me from your halls. Peradventure
when I come hither, I will ask such a boon as will
put even thy generosity to the test.”
“It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, strik¬
ing his ready hand^into the gauntleted palm of the
Black Knight, — “It is granted already, were it to
affect half my fortune.”
^ “Gage not thy promise so lightly,” and the
Knight of the Fetterlock; “yet well I hope to gain
the boon I shall ask. Meanwhile, adieu.”
“I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “that, dur¬
ing the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall
be an inhabitant of the halls of his castle of Conings-
burgh. They will be open to all who choose to par¬
take of the funeral banqueting; and, I speak in name
of the noble Edith, mother of the fallen prince, they
will ever be shut against him who labored so bravely,
though unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from Nor¬
man chains and Norman steel.”
“Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resumed his at¬
tendance on his master, “rare feeding there will be
— pity that the noble Athelstane cannot banquet at
his own funeral. — But he,” continued the Jester, lift-
ig up his eyes gravely, “is supping in Paradise,
and doubtless does honor to the cheer.”
IVANHOE
435
“Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at
this untimely jest being checked by the recollection
of Wamba’s recent services. Rowena waved a grace¬
ful adieu to him of the Fetterlock— the Saxon bade
God speed him, and on they moved through a wide
glade of the forest.
They had scarcely departed, ere a sudden proces¬
sion moved from under the greenwood branches,
swept slowly round the silvan ampitheater, and took
the same direction with Rowena and her followers.
The priests of a neighboring convent, in expectation
of the ample donation, or soul-scat / which Cedric
had propined, attended upon the car in which the
body of Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it
was sadly and slowly borne on the shoulders of his
vassals to his castle of Coningsburgh, to be there
deposited in the grave of Hengist., from whom the
deceased derived his long descent. Many of his
vassals had assembled at the news of his death, and
followed the bier with all the external marks, at
least, of dejection and sorrow. Again the outlaws
arose, and paid the same rude and spontaneous
homage to death, which they had so lately rendered
to beauty— the slow chant and mournful step of the
priests brought back to tfheir remembrances such of
their comrades as had fallen m the yesterday s
affray. But such recollections dwell not long with
those who lead a life of danger and enterprise, and
ere the sound of the death-hymn had died on the
wind, the outlaws were again busied m the distribu¬
tion of their spoil.
“Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black
Champion, “without whose good heart and mighty
arm our enterprise must altogether have failed, will
it please you to take from that mass of spoil what-
tax paid to the church wherein the deceased was held.
436
IVANHOE
ever may best serve to pleasure you, and to remind
you of this my Trysting-tree?”
“I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “as frankly
as it is given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir
Maurice de Bracy at my own pleasure.”
“He is thine already,” said Locksley, “and well
for him ! else the tyrant had graced the highest bough
of this oak, with as many of his Free Companions
as we could gather, hanging thick as acorns around
him. — But he is thy prisoner, and he is safe, though
he had slain my father.”
“De Bracy,” said the Knight, “thou art free —
depart. He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take
mean revenge for what is past. But beware of the
future, lest a worse thing befall thee.— Maurice de
Bracy, I say beware!”
De Bracy bent low and in silence, and was about
to withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a
shout of execration and derision. The proud knight
instantly stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew
up his form to its full height, and exclaimed, “Peace,
ye yelping curs! who open upon a cry which ye
followed not when the stag was at bay — De Bracy
scorns your censure as he would disdain your ap¬
plause. To your brakes and caves, ye outlawed
thieves! and be silent when aught knightly or
noble is but spoken within a league of your fox-
earths.”
This ill-timed defiance might have procured for
De Bracy a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and
imperative interference of the outlaw Chief. Mean¬
while the knight caught a horse by the rein for sev¬
eral which had been taken in the stables of Front-de-
Boeuf stood accoutered around, and were a valuable
part of the booty. He threw himself upon the
Question: Why was De Bracy set free?
IVANHOE
437
saddle, and galloped off through the wood.
When the bustle occasioned by this incident was
somewhat composed, the chief Outlaw took from his
neck the rich horn and baldric which he had re¬
cently gained at the strife of archery near Ashby.
“Noble knight,” he said to him of the Fetterlock,'
“if you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a
bugle which an English yeoman has once worn, this
I will pray you to keep as a memorial of your gallant
bearing — and if ye have aught to do, and, as happen-
eth oft to a gallant knight, ye change to be hard
bested in any forest between Trent and Tees1, wind
three mots2 upon the horn thus, Wa-sa-hoa! and it
may well chance ye shall find helpers and rescue.”
-die then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once
and again the call which he described, until the
knight had caught the notes.
“Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the
Knight; “and better help than thine and thy
rangers’ would I never seek, were it at my utmost
need.” And then in his turn he winded the call
till all the greenwood rang.
“Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman; “be-
shrew me an thou knowest not as much of wood¬
craft as of war! — thou hast been a striker of deer in
thy day, I warrant. — Comrades, mark these three
mots — it is the call of the Knight of the Fetterlock;
and he who hears it, and hastens not to serve him
at his need, I will have him scourged out of our
band with his own bowstring.”
“Long live our leader!” shouted the yeomen,
*The Trent flows through Central England; the Tees in
the northern boundary of Yorkshire.
2“The notes upon the bugle were anciently called mots,
and are distinguished in the old treatises on hunting, not
by musical characters, but by written words/’ — 'Scott.
438
Ivan hoe
‘‘and long live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock!
— May he soon use our service, to prove how readily
it will be paid.”
Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the
spoil, which he performed with the most laudable im¬
partiality. A tenth part of the whole was set apart
for the church, and for pious uses; a portion was
next allotted to a sort of public treasury; a part was
assigned to the widows and children of those who
had fallen, or to be expended in masses for the souls
of such as had left no surviving family. The rest
was divided amongst the outlaws, according to their
rank and merit; and the judgment of the Chief, on
all such doubtful questions as occurred, was deliv¬
ered with great shrewdness, and received with abso¬
lute submission. The Black Knight was not a little
surprised to find that men in a state so lawless, were
nevertheless among themselves so regularly and
equitable governed, and all that he observed added
to his opinion of the justice and judgment of their
leader.
When each had taken his own proportion of the
booty, and while the treasurer, accompanied by four
tall yeomen, was transporting that belonging to the
state to some place of concealment or of security,
the portion devoted to the church still remained un¬
appropriated.
“I would,” said the leader, ‘‘we could hear
tidings of our joyous chaplain — he was never wont
to be absent when meat was to be blessed, or spoil
to be parted ; and it is his duty to take care of these
the tithes of our successful enterprise. It may be
the office has helped to cover some of his canonical
irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a
Question : What was Locksley’s gift to the Black
Knight?
IVANHOE
439
prisoner at no great distance, and I would fain have
ithe Friar to help me to deal with him in due sort.
I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluff priest.’'
“I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of
jthe Fetterlock, “for I stand indebted to him for the
joyous hospitality of a merry Knight in his cell. Let
us to the ruins of the castle; it may be we shall
there learn some tidings of him.”
While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the
yeomen announced the arrival of him for whom they
feared, as they learned from the stentorian voice of
the Friar himself, long before they saw his burly
I person.
I “Make room, my merry-men!” he exclaimed;
“room for your godly father and his prisoner — cry
welcome once more. — I come, noble leader, like an
eagle with my prey in my clutch.” — And making*his
way through the ring, amidst the laughter of all
! around, he appeared in majestic triumph, his huge
partisan in one hand, and in the other a halter, one
end of which was fastened to the neck of the unfor¬
tunate Isaac of York, who, bent down by sorrow and
terror, was dragged on by the victorious priest, who
shouted aloud, “Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle
me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay? — By Saint
Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out of the
way where there is an apt theme for exalting valor!”
“Curtal Priest,” said the Captain, “thou hast
been at a wet mass this morning, as early as it is.
In the name of Saint Nicholas, whom hast thou got
here?”
“A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble
Captain,” replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst; “to
my bow and to my halberd, I should rather say; and
yet I have redeemed him by my divinity from a
worse captivity. Speak, Jew— have I not ransomed •
thee from Sathanas?— have I not taught thee thy
440
Ivan hoe
credo, thy pater, and thine Ave Maria? Did I not
spend the whole night in drinking to thee, and in
expounding of mysteries ?”
“For the love of God!” ejaculated the poor Jew,
“will no one take me out of the keeping of this mad
— I mean this holy man?”
“How's this, Jew?” said the Friar, with a men¬
acing aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? — Bethink
thee, if thou dost relapse into thine infidelity, though
thou art not so tender as a suckling pig — I would I
had one to break my fast upon — thou art not too
tough to be roasted! Be comfortable, Isaac, and
repeat the words after me. Ave Maria! - ”
“Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest,”
said Locksley; “let us rather hear where you found
this prisoner of thine.”
“By Saint Dunstan,” said the Friar, “I found
him where I sought for better ware! I did step into
the cellarage to see what might be rescued there; for
though a cup of burnt wine, with spice, be an even¬
ing’s draught for an emperor, it were waste, me-
thought, to let so much good liquor be mulled at
once; and I had caught up one runlet of sack, and
was coming to call more aid among these lazy knaves,
who are ever to seek when a good deed is to be
done, when I was advised of a strong door. Aha!
thought I, here is the choicest juice of all in this
secret crypt; and the knave butler, being disturbed
in his vocation, hath left the key in the door. In
therefore I went, and found just naught besides a
commodity of rusted chains and this dog of a Jew,
who presently rendered himself my prisoner, rescue
or no rescue. I did but refresh myself after the
fatigue of the action with the unbeliever, with one
humming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead
forth my captive, when, crash after crash, as with
wild thunder-dint and levin-fire, down toppled the
Ivan hoe
441
masonry of an outer tower, (marry beshrew their
hands1 that built it not the firmer I) and blocked up
the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed
another — I gave up thought of life; and deeming it
a dishonor to one of my profession to pass out of this
world in company with a Jew, I heaved up my hal¬
berd to beat his brains out; but I took pity on his
gray hairs, and judged it better to lay down the
partisan, and take up my spiritual weapon for his
conversion. And truly, by the blessing of Saint
Dustan, the seed has been sown in good soil ; only
that, with speaking to him of mysteries through the
whole night, and being in a manner fasting', (for the
few draughts of sack which I sharpened my wits
with were not worth marking,) my head